#but on the other hand...it IS more freedom

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Daytrip.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (Hunter x Hunter).

Word Count: 5.6k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Prolonged Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Animal Death, Semi-Public Sex, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Isolation, and Stalking.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was, per usual, Illumi’s face.

His dark eyes wide and unblinking, his skin bloodlessly pale, his lips pulled into a thin, neutral line – and all of it no more than three inches away. You were too numb to his off-putting proximity to scream, but you flinched back into your pillow on instinct, and Illumi took the hint, lingering for another half second longer before drawing back. A few months ago, you might’ve scrambled away, barricaded yourself in the smallest corner of your lavish bedroom, but now, you only rolled onto your side, regarding him with the same exhausted resignation that you used to pay to your cat, when she woke you up three hours early for no other reason than her own selfish desire not to spend the small hours of the morning alone.

“What’s up?”

It might’ve been a little too casual of a greeting for your kidnapper, but he didn’t seem to mind. “There are clothes waiting for you on your vanity. The butlers will help you dress as soon as possible.”

 So this was going to be an out-of-bed thing, after all. Reluctantly, you started pushing yourself up. “Are we in a hurry for a reason, or…?”

There was a brief moment of consideration, then a resolute nod from Illumi. You let out an inward sigh. “Okay, whatever, that’s my fault. Why are we in a rush, ‘lumi?”

“I have something planned for the two of us.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought you saw his expression light up. “A daytrip, I believe.” And then, as if as an afterthought, “I’m very excited.”

Illumi’s excitement was normally something you tried to avoid, but your mind seemed to glaze over that and settle on the word ‘daytrip’ instead. Daytrips meant traveling. Daytrips meant activities.

Most pressingly, daytrips meant getting to leave the empty, lifeless, murderer-infested wasteland that was his family’s estate for the first time since he carried you through its gates. You knew better than to say that in as many words, though.

“And for this daytrip, we’ll be going…” You trailed off, gesturing in the direction you felt most strongly would lead back to civilization. “…out there?”

“We’ll be leaving the mountain, yes.”

“And we’ll be going place where other people are?”

“I suppose so, if it can’t be avoided.”

“And your family wasn’t involved with this at all?”

“They don’t think it’s right for you to be given so much freedom so quickly,” he explained. “I disagree. Even well-trained dogs have to be walked.”

For the first time ever, you had to resist the urge to kiss him.

Instead, you only let yourself smile, casting your sheets aside and settling for a brief but bone-crushing hug. “Thank you thank you thank you!” You pulled away abruptly, sliding off of the mattress. “I—I’ll get dressed!”

Illumi didn’t move, didn’t react, but his eyes followed you as you stumbled across the room – happier than you’d been in months.

~

A little less than an hour later, you were spread across Illumi’s lap in the back of a surprisingly conspicuous black car, the divider raised to block a faceless driver from view. It took a concerted amount of effort to keep your attention on anything but the window, but you managed, only sparing the occasional glance towards the passing scenery.

You watched the mountainside spiral downward as Illumi’s hands settled around your waist, measuring the widening gaps between dense patches of forestry as his mouth ghosted over the side of your neck. It’d always surprised you – how tactile he was, how someone so cold could be so fond of peppering feather-light kisses into your collarbones and groping at your thighs. It’d been weeks since the last time you tried to brush off his affection. As far as you were concerned, there were worse things he could do to you than mimic the behavior of a more conventional boyfriend.

(At some point, you’d come to think of Illumi as the unclimbable, unmovable, twenty-foot-tall wall that separated you from freedom. You didn’t like him, sure, but you had to recognize that on your own, you had no chance of getting past, over, or around him. If something happened to render him a little weaker, a little less tall, a little more susceptible to opening his gates, then things might change, but you couldn’t rely on elusive possibilities. The way you saw it, you could either waste your time trying to overcome an insurmountable obstacle, or you could save your energy and try to make things as pleasant on this side of the wall as was humanly possible, given your below-standard working conditions. Until you met someone willing to offer you a ladder, at least.)

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and your eyes flitted back to the window. You were passing buildings, now – houses and apartments, people dotted in front of them blurred mannequins. “Can you tell me where we’re going, or am I not supposed to know?”

He seemed to think for a second, but answered quickly enough. “Brunch, first,” he said, not bothering to pull away from you. “The rest is a surprise.”

You pursed your lips. You used to like surprises, but Illumi had managed to change a lot of things about you. “Is ‘the rest’ something I’ll like?”

 “It’s something you’ve been known to enjoy.”

It took everything you had not to roll your eyes. You’d been ‘known to enjoy’ a lot of things, most of which Illumi had taken away from you.

There was one more open-mouthed kiss pressed into your collarbone, one more stolen glance of the outside world, and then, the vehicle was easing to a steady halt in front of a rustic, almost quaint building. A café, you realized, as Illumi stepped out in front of you, holding the door open while you stared wide-eyed at the perfectly idyllic, perfectly normal restaurant. The cute type, with a triangular roof and a greenery-laden front porch and chipped paint on either side of the front door.

Subconsciously, some part of you must’ve decided that you’d never see anything more charming or more homey than the lifeless grounds of Illumi’s estate again. You opted not to linger on that, as you stepped out of the car.

The interior was similarly fairytale-esque. There weren’t any other customers or wait-staff, which you’d expected, but string lights hung from the rafters, fresh wildflowers sitting in pitchers on each table. Illumi let you choose where to sit, and you shot for a spot closest to the front windows – bay-style and freshly cleaned, the kind of thing you might’ve stared longingly out of while nursing an overpriced latte for the better part of an hour. Suit-clad butlers stood guard on either side of the door, but if you were lucky, you’d still be able to catch the occasional pedestrian walking by. You would’ve given anything to sit in a room filled to bursting with other people, but since you couldn’t have that, you’d settle for being able to watch a handful from a distance.

“You’re staring.”

“So?” You responded to Illumi without looking away. “You stare at me all the time.”

“That’s different. I have a reason to look at you.”

“Which is?”

“I love you.”

It might’ve been easier to believe if he hadn’t said it with all the warmth and all the affection of a corpse, already given time to cool.

You changed the topic swiftly.

“It’s a little nostalgic, honestly. I used to come to places like this all the time, especially before I made any friends in the city. It was nice to feel lonely in a aloof-and-mysterious kind of way, instead of an anti-social-and-depressed sort of way.”

“Oh, you were never really alone.” You didn’t say anything, but you made the mistake of shifting your gaze onto him, of spurring him forward with the reward of your attention. “It was a guilty pleasure of mine – spending time with you before we met. I preferred it when you sat outside. It was easier to smell your perfume, in the open air.”

You grit your teeth. It wasn’t the most disturbing thing he’d ever admitted, but it definitely made the list. “…I think I would’ve remembered sitting next to someone like you.”

If he’d been more expressive, you could’ve imagined him smirking. “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

There was a brief lapse, a moment of uncertainty on your part. Finally, you asked, “Did I smell… nice?”

“Very.” Illumi didn’t share your sense of trepidation. “Like cinnamon.”

You hummed, and as if by magic, a waitress appeared from the door to an unseen kitchen – white knuckling her pen with one hand and driving her nails into her notepad with the other. She took your orders with a terrified sort of professionalism, and before you left, you convinced Illumi to give you all the cash he was carrying at the moment (a sum that easily added up to half a year’s worth of rent, handed over without so much as a passing question) and left it on the table for her to find.

~

Your second stop was as surprising as Illumi had promised. If anything, he’d undersold it.

If the quaintness of the café had been enough to throw you into a stupor, then the sheer scale of the building in front of you could’ve sent you to an early grave. A mall – a nice mall, either recently built or nestled so far into the upper-class shopping district that you never would’ve come across it organically, the type with glass where there should’ve been walls and a fountain without any coins at the bottom. You were tempted to try and pester loose change off of one of the butlers flanking you, but decided against it. The café, you could’ve stumbled into on your own, without Illumi’s intervention. It just didn’t feel right to leave a mark where you so obviously didn’t belong.

More similarly to the café, though, the inside of the shopping complex was startlingly empty. Butlers and hired security were posed in front of exits, but other than that, it wasn’t hard to believe that you and Illumi were the only people on the property. As soon as you were past the initial entryway, you ducked into the closest store – a high-end cosmetics retailer. The door was unlocked, but there was no cashier at the register. Like someone had already come through and cleared it out.

“This is some backrooms shit,” you mumbled to yourself, and then, to Illumi, ever-hovering just over your shoulder. “You didn’t… you know, do what you normally do to people you don’t like, right?”

“Are you asking me if I killed everyone in this shopping complex prior to our arrival?”

“Well, not everyone,” you clarified. “Maybe just the employees?”

He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth turned ever-so-slightly upward, as if you’d said something funny. “No, that would’ve taken far too much time.” The unnecessary loss of life went unacknowledged. “The building’s rented out, and the stock’s been purchased in advance. You’re only deciding what you’d like to keep.”

Huh.

One day, you were going to sit him down and have a long, long talk about class privilege and resource waste. If you were feeling generous, you might even throw generational wealth onto the lecture, just to make sure he got the full picture.

One day, but not today.

“The third floor always has the best stores,” you said, turning on your heel and grabbing Illumi’s hand, too distracted to think anything of the gesture. “Let’s start there.”

You weaved in and out of stores with reckless abandon, hyper-aware that you had no one’s time to waste but your own. Essentials were overlooked entirely, makeup and self-care supplies limited to eyeshadow pallets with no less than several dozen eye bleeding colors and bath-bombs that were more glitter than pigment, and clothes made up the bulk of your adoration. Everything that wasn’t in your size had already been removed – something as worrying as it was convenient. The only thing you refused to try on was loungewear. It would’ve been practical, sure, but you didn’t need to be reminded that this was likely the last time you’d ever leave Illumi’s sprawling home.

“You know,” you called from a dressing room, pulling a gingham dress over your head. You couldn’t see Illumi, but you were sure he wasn’t far. He didn’t seem to have much of an interest in shopping, but his favorite hobby was looming over your shoulder like some blank-eyed, haphazardly domesticated bird of prey, so it balanced out. “If this had been our first date, I probably would’ve married you.

You heard him hum as a weight settled against the dressing room door. “I enjoyed our first date. It was endearing – how long you rested your head in my lap.”

“Well, yeah. The paralytics you used were so strong, I couldn’t move for three days.” You’d still lose feeling in your left arm, if you held it at the wrong angle. It reminded you a little of your cat, after she first came around to the idea of sitting in your lap. You’d been so afraid of scaring her off, you’d let your legs fall asleep before you so much as thought about moving her. “I just meant that the whole ‘kidnapping’ thing probably wouldn’t have been necessary, y’know? I wasn’t exactly in a place to be picky when it came to creepy rich men.”

There was a brief lapse of silence, and you finally managed to drag the bodice of the dress into place. “I never considered that.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you to hear that Illumi wasn’t the dating type, and yet, you let out a breath of a laugh. “You never thought about asking me out? Not even once?”

“…no, I didn’t.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded shy. “It was hard to be practical. I was distracted. You were perfect, and contained, and I thought touching you would be—” For the first time, his voice seemed to dip, to grow just a little quieter. “—vulgar. It would’ve changed you, to know I was there.”

The skirt was layered, and you bit back the urge to curse as you smoothed over the layers of cotton and lace. “I think being abducted might’ve changed me, too.”

“It was the better option. Something would’ve fallen out of place eventually, but like this, I could save you. Only your environment had to be altered.”

He made it sound like he’d sealed you behind glass, rather than underneath a mansion occupied by the world’s most dangerous killers. You’d known better than to hope he’d be able to come up with a selfless reason for your prolonged captivity, but still. Hearing that you were miserable because he needed a ballerina to decorate his music box with stung more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“…it’s unlocked. You can come in, if you want.” Immediately, you heard the dressing room door creak open, and turned your attention towards your reflection. Out of the countless you’d tried on, there was a reason you’d saved this dress for last. You used to fantasize about being able to afford something so wonderfully needless, something you wouldn’t have had to justify with things as joyless as ‘function’ and ‘practicality’. Even now, the puffiness of the sleeves and the lace detailing around the collar and the tiny, almost impossible-to-see hearts printed onto the checked pattern felt exorbitant – borderline garish. You still didn’t have any reason to wear it, any place you could’ve gone to show it off, but then again, you didn’t have much of a reason to do much of anything when you were with Illumi. You guessed, in a roundabout kind of way, that meant you got to do whatever you wanted to.

Illumi came to stand behind you, and you leaned back, kissing his cheek gingerly. “I’ll add it to the pile. Thanks for this, ‘lumi.”

His hands found their way to your hips, settling there as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Keep it on. It suits you.”

You tried to laugh, but fell short – your smile falling into something more strained. You really shouldn’t have said anything, but you were talking before you could stop yourself, before you could think better of it. “The cinnamon,” you started, speaking against the dryness in your throat. “When I first moved to the city, the only apartment I could afford was flat above a bakery. The ventilation was awful, and the landlord was impossible to get a hold of, and everything I owned smelled like sugar and cinnamon and bread. I couldn’t touch anything sweet for months, after I moved out.”

It was all you could do to bite down on your tongue and force yourself to stop, to shut up, to remember who you were talking to. Illumi’s response was less dramatic – as instantaneous as it was muted.

“How fitting,” he said, with a chime of a laugh. “Sweet things belong in sweet places.”

…

You could only be mad at yourself, really. What else were expecting? It wasn’t like he was going to get down on his knees and apologize, for fuck’s sake.

You sighed, melting into Illumi’s chest. Of course, he welcomed you with open arms.

~

You didn’t end up keeping any other dresses. A few other articles of clothing, a couple pairs of shoes, a small fortune’s worth of little luxuries that’d help you pass the time when you were returned, kicking and screaming, to solitary confinement, but no dresses. Well, aside from the one you were wearing, of course.

It wasn’t long before Illumi started gently ushering you to the nearest exit, and already thoroughly defeated, you didn’t try to resist. You only got distracted once on your way out, and not for very long. Illumi made sure of that.

It was kiosk-type stand – the glass cabinets filled with high-end pet toys and animal-themed tchotchkes. You couldn’t stop yourself, gasping as you broke away from Illumi and darted to the first thing that caught your eye: a bright pink collar with silver spikes, adorable and cliché and so, so cute. It was clearly meant for a dog, but it could’ve fit a cat. Or, you probably would’ve tried to make it fit a cat, rather.  

Illumi appeared at your side, as always, and you started talking without looking up. “I’m sorry, I know we’re in a rush, but it just—” You paused, trying and failing to bite back a smile. “I had this cat before you took me – her name was Ghost. She used to be the neighborhood stray, but she was getting pretty old, and I think other cats were picking on her. Eventually, I just started letting her in, and after a while, she stopped leaving. She would’ve hated something like this.” You held up the collar, gesturing dismissively before forcing yourself to set it back down. “She never really liked me. Whoever took her in shouldn’t have had too much trouble winning her over, after I disappeared.”

“Ghost,” he repeated. “Was she a black cat?”

“Yeah, that’s where her name came from. I couldn’t see her at all at night, and she could knock over anything that wasn’t nailed down. It was like living with a poltergeist.”

“She’s dead.”

You felt something small and vital tear open and start to bleed. “…excuse me?”

“You two were quite close. Had she been given the time, she would’ve woken you up the night I came to get you. I didn’t want that.” It took an embarrassing amount of time for you to make the connection, to form the link, to realize why the pain in your chest was quickly becoming so unbearable. “We can get another, if you’re upset. As a couple.”

The shock was numb, if there was any shock to be had at all. “It’s fine,” you managed, eventually, and despite the strain behind your voice, Illumi didn’t argue.

Instead, he glanced towards the nearest glass wall, to where the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon. “We should go.”

“I didn’t realize we were on a schedule.”

“You weren’t supposed to. I told you earlier – the last stop is a surprise.” This time, he was the one to take your hand, squeezing gently as he laced his fingers with yours.

It might’ve been a nice gesture, if his touch hadn’t been cold enough to burn.

~

You weren’t really sure what the third and final stop was supposed to be, at first.

An old sort of a dream knotted and coiled in your chest as his driver ferried you out of the city, metropolis shuttering into mountain backwoods. You’d never really been afraid of Illumi killing you (not when there were so many things that were so, so much worse than death), but as the car eased to a stop on the side of single-lane road, it was hard to imagine why else he would’ve taken you so far from the nearest scrap of civilization, another reason for him to wear such a bright expression as he ushered you outside - the most impatient he’d been all day. It wasn’t until you saw the trailhead – unmarked save for a wooden post and break in the foliage – that you started to relax.

“Oh,” you mumbled, your relief audible. “I’m not really dressed for hiking, ‘lumi.”

“It isn’t far.” And then, taking your hand in his, “I can carry you.”

It sounded more like a matter-of-fact statement than an offer, but you shook your head, edging forward. He was right, in the end. It couldn’t have been more than half a mile of level ground, Illumi holding your hand all the while. It wasn’t like you weren’t allowed outside on Illumi’s estate, but you spent so much time in the woods that surrounded his mansion and his mother’s gardens – it would’ve been impossible not to go numb to the absence of bird song, the treacherous slope of his mountain, how little sunlight managed to break through the dense canopy of tangled branches and leaves that seemed to lie a little closer to black than green. It was nice to be somewhere else, somewhere with humming insects and a gentleness to the landscape and just enough dappled sunlight to make you forget who you were with. You kept your head on a swivel, quietly eager to soak in as much of it as you could. If you were lucky, you’d actually get to see some life – a deer, or a wildcat, or—

Something caught in your throat, and your head lulled forward, eyes dropping to your feet. You stared at the ground for the rest of the walk.

Your destination was, similarly, storybook levels of idyllic. The forest thinned and fell away entirely, breaking into a lake that stretched on as far as the eye could see and glittered pink in the light of the setting sun. Stretched over the lake’s shore was a blanket piled with platters of chocolate-covered fruit, breads and cheese, bottles of wine with a matching pair of glasses for each option – everything you might’ve once drunkenly listed off to a friend while fantasizing about your perfect, fairytale date. You glanced around you, looking for the butlers who must’ve only just finished setting up, but Illumi was quick to call your attention back to him. You felt him let go of your hand, your body shift before you could process why you were moving, and then, you were no longer on the ground; one of Illumi’s arms hooked under your knees and the other behind your back, your side pulled against his chest in an effortless bridal carry. You made a passing attempt to squirm, but Illumi didn’t seem to mind – keeping you tucked against him as he made his way to the only unoccupied corner of the blanket and all-but dropped to the ground, leaving you splayed across his lap and safely caged within his arms.  It was hard to tell if he was trying to be romantic in his own, blank, heartless sort of way, or if he’d simply decided you weren’t moving quickly enough. For your own sake, you leaned towards the former.

“It’s awful,” you muttered, and then, correcting yourself, “Not the picnic, I mean – that’s perfect. It’s just, I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

He seemed to consider that, for a moment. A chocolate-covered strawberry was plucked out of the nearest bowl and held to your lips, and to appease him, you bit into it. Your throat still felt too knotted for you to actually enjoy eating, but it was good to keep Illumi happy. “Most of the time, I think about you,” he admitted, any hint of shame absent from his voice. “It’s an issue. It doesn’t affect my work, but it’ll start to if left unchecked.”

He thought about you while cutting down innocent civilians. Great. “And you’re not going to fix that by drowning me in a lake, right?”

“No, I’m not.” Like your question, his answer was too sincere for comfort. The way his free hand toyed with the hem of your skirt did little to ease your nerves, either. “I’ve tried keeping an amount of distance between you and I, but that hasn’t yielded much progress either.”

If he’d ever tried to keep himself away from you, you hadn’t been able to tell. His hand slipped under your skirt properly, and you twisted, reaching for the neared wine bottle. “There’s so much food here, we should really—”

“It can wait.”

It was awful, just how even his voice was. For the first time, you were tempted to give him a reason to raise it.

You’d never resisted Illumi, but he’d never tried to—tried to do this, either. There’d always been an unspoken barrier when it came to sex – your resounding horror shadowed comfortable within his apparent disinterest. Now, though, he didn’t seem very disinterested, and your lingering terror was brushed neatly to the side as his fingers grazed over your thighs, your hip, before slipping underneath the thin, silken fabric. You wanted to thrash, to bolt, but you were suddenly unable to move; paralyzed save for the reflex to clench your legs shut and sink that much deeper into Illumi’s chest. The former was undone with only as much effort as it took him to ease your thighs apart with his knee, though, and the latter only seemed to bring a soft smile to his lips – just barely prominent enough to feel as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve thought to look for his butlers, to worry about passing hikers or concerned locals he wouldn’t think not to hurt, but Illumi had done his job well. It was impossible not to consider yourself wholly and entirely alone in the world, when you were with him.

He was less clinical than you would’ve expected. Illumi did most things with surgical precision, but touching you seemed to call for a more experimental skillset. His chin came to rest on your shoulder as his long fingers spread and explored underneath your panties, the tautness of the fabric ensuring that he always moved against you, rather than over or around. Undressing you never seemed to cross his mind; instead, his attention was trained on dragging the pad of his thumb over your clit, on using his ring and middle fingers to trace the slit of your cunt. You weren’t turned on – who could be, with their stoic kidnapper fondling them like a child learning to handle their first doll? – but your body and your mind were on two different tracks, one eager to make the best of a bad situation and the other too distraught to stop it. It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself dripping around him, your arousal adding a damp heat to your already claustrophobic point of connection. Illumi hummed. “You’re sensitive.”

You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was drowned out by a hitched gasp as he thrust two digits inside of you with a wet click. “Tight, too,” he muttered, almost absentmindedly, immediately falling into a pattern of pumping and scissoring; spreading you open and pulling back only to fuck his fingers that much deeper. When he paused, it was only to curl against something particularly sensitive inside of you, to leave you shrinking that much further into his chest. “Is this uncomfortable?”

The practicality of the question caught you off-guard. You couldn’t call it considerate, but it was more than you’d expected, more than you ever would’ve hoped for. Unable to speak, you nodded furiously, and Illumi clicked his tongue. “You’ll be alright,” And then, slightly softer, “It couldn’t be any worse than what I had to deal with, waiting for you.”

There was no bitterness, no remorse, no pity; just Illumi’s cold rationality and the feeling of his palm grinding into your clit. The only warmth you could feel was the ghost of his breath on the side of your throat, the dip of your shoulder – not quite panting, but a world apart from his usual absence of expression. You tried to steel yourself, to think about anything aside from Illumi’s presence where it draped across you like a funeral shroud, but it’d been months since the last time you so much as thought about touching yourself, and for all his apathy, you could feel heat pooling in your core and recognize that your attempts to stave off the inevitable were only prolonging the insufferable. Still, it would’ve been impossible not to try and choke back your whimpers as that heat brewed and solidified into something more tense, something more breakable; as Illumi’s cheek pressed into the curve of your neck and his fingers curled against something soft and unprotected inside of you. Your climax was drawn out of you slowly, painfully, with a ragged whine in place of a moan. You kept your face buried in Illumi’s chest, your hands balled around the bodice of your dress. It felt like an eternity passed before it was over, before Illumi’s hand drew back, but no relief accompanied the distance.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to hate Illumi for it, not really. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel much of anything. The only thing you could think, as hard as you tried not to think at all, was that you missed your dead cat.

It was pathetic, honestly. A sob tore past your lips as he pulled you away from his chest and lowered you onto your back, tears burning twin tracks down your face. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d made you cry, and this shouldn’t have been your tipping point – not Ghost, not your awful shoebox apartment, not the fact that you could hear fabric tearing as he pulled your dress apart, too impatient to so much as consider a less destructive solution. You were in hysterics by the time he glanced up, the faintest possible frown coaxing the corners of his lips downward. “You’re crying.” And then, when your only response was another jagged cry, “Why?”

You opened your mouth, but only managed to force out another incoherent sob. Illumi softened, leaning over you, his dark hair forming a curtain that seemed to replace the rest of the world with unending void. Eventually, you managed to scrap up the only thing you could, even if it wasn’t what you really meant. “I—I want to go home, Illumi.”

He cocked his head to the side, staring down at you with a sort of blank focus. A moment passed, then another, before his expression brightened. “Oh.”

He leaned down, and you felt his lips brush over your forehead. His smile bit into your skin like a blade.

“We will, love.” He pulled back. You heard fabric shift, felt something hot and terrible slot against your cunt. “Just not yet.”

 You moved to respond, but gave up quickly. His mouth crashed into yours as he thrust into you and your blood ran cold.

~

Later on, in the dark, things became bearable again. Illumi was cruel, psychotic, delusional, but he was dutiful, too, and with the most beautiful dress you’d ever seen reduced to scraps, he wrapped you in his jacket and gathered you in his arms. The picnic was untouched, the breath-taking view painted over by night. None of it mattered, of course. You were too exhausted to keep your eyes open, and a bottomless pit occupied the space your stomach used to. You wouldn’t mind going the rest of your life without taking anything of the filthy, unfeeling outside world inside of you ever again, but you knew better than to swear off eating because of Illumi. Or, at least, you hoped you’d know better in the morning.

You were only half-conscious of him pulling you against his chest and starting back into the forest, following the same path you had an eternity ago. It was a stupid question, but you found yourself asking anyway, your voice low and hoarse. “Are we… Are we going somewhere?”

“Of course.” Illumi bowed his head, kissing the top of yours. “We’re going home.”

He didn’t know he was lying, but he was. He might’ve been, but you weren’t.

Slowly and with no small amount of effort, you managed to nod, slumping against his chest. No sooner had you went slack in his arms than the final tether to consciousness thinned and fell away, leaving you to be consumed by the darkness.

[frehyun]

Drowned

siren!hyunjin x afab!reader

warnings: swearing, violence, mentions of drinking, descriptions of drowning, unprotected sex (do not), monster cock, fingering (f and m receiving), oral (f receiving), creampie

genre: pirate/siren AU, found family trope, fluff, monster (?) smut, a little bit of angst

word count: 8.2k

author's note: started thinking about merman hyunjin, wanted to write a little something, it got out of hand. voilá. seriously, this is the longest thing i've ever written so i'd really appreciate to hear what you think! please let me know if there's any mistakes or if i overlooked something <3 happy reading 💙

masterlist

divider by @firefly-graphics

For as long as you lived, the sea was your home. The salty wind in your hair, the water splashing against the sides of your parent’s ship and freedom in your heart. Never have you wanted for more, the crew and everything else that was on board was always enough.

Sure, every now and then you had to get rough with other pirates or relieve some rich folk of their valuables but regardless of that, you wouldn’t change your life for the world. You never had a worry on your mind except maybe what’s for dinner that day, enjoying a nice sunbath on the deck, messing with some of the lower standing crew members that were close to your heart or going fishing with your mother whenever you were docked on some harbor.

Today was no different. Maybe a little different, since your father had tasked you with checking out one of the local rich men’s houses. Your boots carried you to the wealthy district where you earned your share of people eyeing you with disdain but you didn’t mind, smiling toothily at them and waving which just left them perplexed by your friendliness.

You whistled lowly at the sight of the mansion, gold decorations shimmering on the façade, lush greenery surrounding the entire building.

Kind of impressive.

The fence was hopped easily and you found your way into the mansion. No one was home so you figured there was no point in trying to stay low. You scanned through most of the main rooms, snatching up anything that looked valuable enough to you. With your pockets and bag full, you strolled over to what seemed to be a room where whoever lived here kept all of their valuable paintings and other art finds.

You stood in front of one particularly impressive artwork. While others would surely admire the stroke pattern, the colors used or the fascinating woodwork on the frame, you simply ascertained that the painting was small enough to carry out and still be able to run with. So you grinned to yourself as you removed the painting from the wall and leisurely made your way out of the house again.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way back to the ship, signaling for the crew to get ready to leave the harbor.

“Halt! She’s a thief!”

Oh well. Took them long enough.

You broke out in a sprint, painting secured beneath your arm. Your father was already barking out orders, readying the ship to take off as soon as they can, while some of the local police is hot on your trail.

You giggled as you climbed onboard right as the ship began its movement towards the horizon. With big motions you waved to the people left behind, all of them fuming for having lost the race against you.

-

The island was no longer to be seen, your parents were proud and your little family had plenty of stuff to sell for the next dock. You couldn’t be happier.

To reward yourself for your hard work today, you decided to lounge about in the sun. The waves rocked you until you fell fast asleep.

So deeply asleep that you didn’t wake up when the outlook yelled about another ship approaching yours.

So deeply asleep that you only woke up when the first canonball tore through the flimsy wood of the ship you called home.

Your heart was beating erratically as you struggled to make sense of your surroundings, everyone onboard in a panicked hurry. Some men running around trying to fight off the opponents that were starting to invade your space, the others below deck firing back with whatever they had, some others trying to keep the rising water out of the ship, refusing to let it sink just like that.

You grabbed your own sword and jumped to your father’s side.

“Seems like you angered the wrong gentlemen this time around!” – he laughed as his sword clashed with another.

“It was your stupid idea!” – you countered, equally finding amusement in the familiar situation and laughing.

The fight seemed to be on your side for a moment, countless stuck-up lawmen falling into the harsh waters while your side held their numbers up. But not everything always goes the way you want it to, one misstep and everything can fall apart quickly. So when the blade slashed through your side, you sucked in a breath and stumbled backwards against the railing, a man twice your size giving you the last push you needed to tip over, the cold water enveloping your whole body.

You struggled to keep your head above the waters, gasping for air but breathing in more water than anything sustainable. Your body bumped into those of others that had met the same fate as you, making the entire process of trying to stay alive harder than it needed to be. The side of your torso ached with every movement and soon enough, the strength left your limbs as you slowly but surely sunk deeper into the depths of the sea, unaware of someone that observed your descent with curious eyes.

The first thing you notice when you come to your senses again is that you feel incredibly warm.

The second thing you notice is a pair of curious eyes staring down at you.

“Oh” – he moves out of your sight before you can properly take the rest of his appearance in but one thing is abundantly clear to you: pupils should not be shaped like his, nor should eyes be as yellow as his.

You sit upright as soon as you can, wincing at the sharp pain in your side. The pain is all but forgotten when you take in the otherworldly creature sitting timidly at the edge of a stone not far from you.

He is nervously picking at his fingers while gazing at you, the space between each finger connected by a thin membrane akin to some sea creatures you know. There are tiny little scales scattered around his skin that shimmer in various shades in the light, ranging from the deepest onyx, powdery sky blue, brilliant gold and pearl white. The most alarming thing about his body is the very obvious fish tail where his legs should be, decorated in the same colors as the rest of his scales with smaller, elegantly shaped fins on the sides of it. It seemed to be longer than whatever the stories made you picture in your mind. When your gaze wanders back up his body, taking note of how the scales fade into normal skin and just being scattered here and there, you notice the gills on each side of his neck, fluttering softly with each breath he takes. His impressively broad back had another line of fins across his spine. Finally settling your gaze on his face, framed by luscious black locks, you can see he has another set of large fins on the side of his head, probably protecting his ears. His eyes shine a shimmery yellow with a fitting cat-like pupil that’s slightly dilated as he’s taking your form in. A slight blush covers his cheeks, the miniscule fins along his cheekbones fluttering.

He is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in your life.

When he opens his plush lips to say something, you can see his teeth are a set of fangs, his canines larger and sharper than the others which seem kind of blunt in comparison.

“Do you feel pain?” – his voice comes out shyly, an underlying trill accompanying the sound.

Suddenly, you remember you are supposed to be in pain, immediately clutching the side that was slashed during the fight but finding it neatly bandaged with algae and scraps of cloth. He must have taken care of you while you were unconscious.

Surprisingly, all that’s left is a dull pain that pulsates along your heartbeat, nothing too bad. As you tell him this, he seems pleased, a proud little smile on his lips.

“You are a pirate, yes?”

“Yeah. We got attacked and then…” – you trail off and look around.

You’re clearly on some shore but it doesn’t seem like any civilisation is nearby, the air devoid of any sounds that indicate humans are nearby, just the soft crashing of the waves, the wind in the trees and the calls of animals. There isn’t any harbor, no boats in sight, the beautiful creature sitting beside you the only sign of intelligent life.

A sigh leaves your lips, already wracking your brain for any ideas on how to get back to the mainland or contact your family. For a second earlier, you thought that you found your end as you stared into the creature’s eyes. So sure were you that what you saw in front of you must have been one of the legendary sirens that your mother always told you about. Creatures that lure in pirates and sailors alike with their beautiful appearance and mesmerising voices, only to drag them into the depths of the sea, killing them.

Whatever was in front of you, curiously holding up the painting that you stole, big eyes roaming over the faded paint, couldn’t be a man-killing siren for he was far too soft and gentle to be anything like those legends said he would be.

It was honestly kind of cute watching him take in the ruined painting, completely captivated by the swirling colors, his tail gently splashing in the water in quiet excitement.

He seemed to be no threat, so you let your guard down easily beside him.

“Do you have a name?” – you ask him finally, breaking his concentration on the painting, yet he doesn’t look away from it.

“Hyunjin.”

“Well, thank you, Hyunjin. For saving me. I’m y/n.”

The tips of his ear fins flick at your admission, yet he makes no move to look at you. His fingers, with claws retracted, gently glide over the messy colors and though the original painting is near unrecognisable, far too damaged by the tides to make anything out, Hyunjin seems to find a certain beauty in the destroyed artwork.

“Do you know who made this?” – he asks and there’s that trill in his voice again that makes you think his vocal chords must work differently to yours.

“Nope. Stole it from some rich guy, he didn’t really indicate the artist anywhere. I doubt he cared.”

Hyunjin frowns at that, finally putting the painting to the side and turning to you.

“What are you going to do now? I understand that this island is less than ideal for a human but I had to get you back on land as soon as possible. You would have died.”

“I know where my family was headed and if they survived that encounter, they’ll still sail towards Port Vement. I just have to figure out a way to get there” – you let your body fall back into the sand.

Hyunjin hums and even then, the little trill you’re slowly getting obsessed with accompanies the sound. You want to hear it again. You wonder if it would be there if he sang.

“I’ll help you. I’m the reason you’re in this situation, after all.”

-

The days passed in a slog. You were mainly concerned about finding a way off of the island while staying alive, the wound you nursed on your side healing too slow for your liking.

Hyunjin had been fantastic at keeping you company and ensuring you actually survived and stayed sane. He caught fish for you with his bare hands, showing it off proudly by raising his arm in the air and giving you a toothy grin from his place in the water as you watched him, your adoration growing for him with every fish caught.

You ate together and meal times were one of the few times where you had to realise, that Hyunjin was after all part animal with the way he tore into the fish, his fangs easily making short work of the seadweller.

When you were busy building a makeshift raft out of the driftwood that you found around the shore, he’d sunbathe on one of the nearby stones, his scales glistening and shimmering in the light. Your desire to touch them grew every time you stole a glance at the sleepy siren.

Sometimes, the two of you would just lay together, exhausted from the day. Hyunjin liked it when you told him stories of your adventures around the world but it seemed that he found particular joy in the stories that focused on your little pirate family.

You would tell him of Marnie, the bear-like man in charge of the kitchen, who you swear was the softest guy you had ever known. Everything he touched turned into a delicacy and his passion for good ingredients and cooking got even you excited to try your hand at making a dish, only to end up burning your hand and the meal tasting like it had gone bad a week ago, thus swiftly ending your career as a kitchen helper.

You would tell him of Val, the outlook who loves reading more than anything ever since your mother taught him. He keeps a little box full of books he procures from the towns you visit. Val doesn’t talk much but he’s generally good company and loves telling you about the plots of his novels.

You would tell him of Arlen, a tall scary-looking guy who was in charge of keeping all of your weapons sharp and battle-ready. Despite looking so fierce and battleworn, Arlen was quite the romantic, swooning here and there over the beauty of the world.

You would tell him of Marlo, who was with you ever since you were born for he was your father’s childhood friend. Marlo lies and talks a lot of bullshit all day long but that made him the greatest storyteller on board because he could exaggerate the hell out of the tales he told.

And finally, you would tell him of your parents, who fell in love when your father was just a scrawny lad robbing a bar blind with his crew of misfits. He swept her off her feet and promised her a future full of wealth and a lifetime of love in their little family.

It was a fair exchange, because Hyunjin, after a few days of only you entrusting stories to him, started telling you of his own life.

He was born in an alcove to two very loving parents when the weather just started changing, the water slowly warming up with each day passing, the sun more happy to be out and about. He was the only one of his clutch that survived, so he didn’t have any brothers or sisters.

When he was just a little fish, his parents got caught up in some kind of conflict between a group of sirens and, in order to protect their only son, gave their lives so he could swim away.

You noticed his voice came out strained, so you silently took his hand into yours in an effort to comfort him. It was your first time initiating touch with him and he accepted it gratefully, continuing on with his story.

“I was alone for quite a while, but my parents taught me well”, he said, “until I met a bunch of other sirens, all male, which was weird, since all the other sirens I had met during my life always had females with them for one reason or another. They were weird for that but what was even weirder is that… I stuck with them for a while and they started feeling like home.”

You nodded along to his words, your thumb caressing the back of his hand in comforting motions.

“You had your own little family, hm?”, you whisper and he nods.

“What happened to them?”, you ask cautiously, not wanting to push him too far in case he wasn’t ready to share that part of the story with you yet. His gills fluttered as he took in a shaky breath, his ear fins flapping nervously as his eyes find yours.

“There was a storm and we got seperated. I don’t know where they are.”

Hyunjin doesn’t share any more stories that night.

-

A few days into your new castaway life, you figure you should change or at least clean the bandages for your wound so it doesn’t get infected. Even after diligently checking through the supplies you gathered in your time here, there isn’t an awful lot of cloth amongst it.

You sigh and look down at your clothes, already mourning the fabric.

You trudge over to where Hyunjin was lounging about. In a way, you envy him for not having to wear proper clothing. Most of what he was wearing consisted of various seashells, fishing lines and other sea artefacts that he, or one of his friends, assembled to resemble necklaces, bracelets and decorations for his tail.

If he was human, he would be quite fashionable, you think.

“Hyunjin”, you whine and he cracks open one eye to look up at you.

“Can you use your claws to cut off some fabric from my clothes for new bandages?”

He mutters a quiet ‘sure’ and sits up, making grabby hands with his sharpened nails at you. You giggle at his antics and offer him your pantleg and he gently cuts off enough fabric to dress your wound with.

The next part is kind of awkward because last time you were unconscious and the situation was quite literally life-or-death. You both sit there awkwardly, Hyunjin still with the fabric in hand, not sure how and where to move. What was acceptable? Would you let him take care of you again now that you were fully conscious?

You were the first to break the awkward tension by lifting your shirt up.

“Help me, again?” – you choke out and Hyunjin feels like jumping into the water and swimming away as far as he can. He trills something, no words coming out of him, just cute little noises, his ear fins flicking nervously.

He scoots closer to you, the base of his tail settling against your knees and despite his scales looking so scratchy, it’s a smooth, silky feel against your skin.

The old bandages and algae are taken off with ease and Hyunjin curiously eyes your wound, checking if it needs to be cleaned or any other special care. Meanwhile you feel like dying, his careful eyes roaming over your middle feels weirdly intimate and you want to burst into a million pieces at his attention.

It’s not every day that you get the full attention of a man as beautiful as him. Even rarer that someone you feel attracted to genuinely wants to take care of you. Something stirs in your heart when Hyunjin’s fingers gently trace the outline of your wound, careful to not keep them too close.

“Is this okay?” – he asks when you slightly jump at his touch and you nod back at him in a daze.

He starts bandaging you up gently, occasionally letting his gaze flit up to your face, silently checking whether you were still okay with what was happening. His own neck starts gaining color when he notices how flustered you are by his ministrations and he quickly finishes up, making sure the bandage wasn’t too tight but still snug.

“Done” – he trills and quickly retracts his hands back to his own body.

On one hand you’re glad it’s over and you can let your body relax again, on the other, you wish he would have kept his hands on you just a little longer.

-

You’re finally able to complete a safe enough raft when Hyunjin finds the last piece of driftwood that seems stable enough to hold you. While you pack all the things you had gathered for a longer journey on sea, Hyunjin tests the durability of the raft by swimming a few paces out into the ocean and hops onto it.

It seems to pass his tests and he gives you a thumbs up before bringing it back.

“And you’re absolutely sure you can swim and pull this at the same time?” – you ask from your place on the raft for the nth time that day, the anxiety gnawing at your core that you’re tasking Hyunjin with something that would end up hurting him.

“Trust me a litte, I’ll be fine!” – he grins and it’s that smile you started to love so much, one where his eyes crinkle a little and remind you of the shape of the moon on some nights. It’s a smile that usually only comes out when he’s genuine, cackling about something he finds extremely funny or something you said to him makes him so happy he can’t hold himself back.

“Alright, fish boy, let’s go, then.”

And oh boy, he’s faster than you thought, pulling you two through the tides as if you weighed nothing to him. Maybe you didn’t. Maybe sirens were extremely strong and he simply never showcased it to you as he did with so many things.

You hold onto dear life and try to navigate him towards where you think was Port Vement.

Amidst the waves rocking your little raft, the excitement and anxiety at the thought of seeing your family again rises within your heart.

What if they never survived that attack?

What if something else happened to them and they never made it to the Port?

What if they never came to Port Vement in the first place?

Such thoughts had plagued your mind ever since you started planning to go after them, only momentarily silenced whenever Hyunjin piped up with something he wanted to ask you about ever curiously or whenever the siren popped into your field of vision, effectively ripping you out of your spiral.

It’s a moment of clarity, your chest constricting at the realisation that in these few days together, you really grew attached to your unlikely acquaintance. A realisation that forces a small part of your brain to wish that you could just stay with him instead of returning to your family. Because a returnal would mean that you would have to say goodbye to him and maybe never see him again, your worlds too different to be allowed to collide for too long.

You don’t talk a lot during your travels and when night eventually falls, Hyunjin is far too tired to keep up with idle conversations. His tail is gently curled around the raft as he rests his body on the wood beside you, slumbering peacefully as the waves rock you two in a soft but steady rhythm. Your hand finds its way into the soft tresses of his hair, your fingers carding through his locks in an effort to comfort and thank him for his efforts during the day.

That fall off your ship could have easily ended in your death. A deep cut in your side, the bloodloss and the strong tides would have killed you right then and there, slowly draining your strength until there was none left.

If Hyunjin didn’t decide to help you out of the kindness of his heart, that would have been it. He didn’t need to help you or stay by your side to ensure that you had food and were safe. Probably shouldn’t have helped you if he wanted to keep himself safe.

But he did anyway. And for that you were incredibly grateful, yet you didn’t have a proper chance to show him that and it made you feel guilty. So all you could do for the moment was ensure that he was healthy and offer him all the comfort he needed.

Surprisingly, the journey was more boring than you expected. There were no storms, no complications, barely any ships nearby that could’ve been trouble for a stray girl and her equally stray siren.

When you see Port Vement in the distance, you let out a yell that scares Hyunjin so much he momentarily stops swimming to look back at you in horror.

“Port Vement, Hyunjin! We made it! You did it!!” – you excitedly celebrate and crawl forward on your raft to take him into your arms tightly. Hyunjin startles at your sudden touch but relaxes into your hold, his webbed fingers coming up to pat your back.

“I promise you, I’m gonna buy you as much food as you want, whatever you want, I’ll make it possible! There’s not enough ways in the world to thank you” – you sob into his shoulder, suddenly emotional over the whole ordeal.

He really doesn’t like it that you’re crying but having you in his arms feels so right, so comforting to his heart that he physically feels his feelings for you click into place, finally slotting into the spaces where they belonged.

“Let’s get you out of the water, then” – he trills shyly and you sniff as you settle back onto the raft so Hyunjin can pull you the last few meters.

With shaky legs you finally stand on solid ground again.

Port Vement had always been something of a safe haven for your family so it felt good to be back somewhere familiar. You tell Hyunjin you’re gonna check out the docks to see if your family’s ship is there and he promises you he’ll stay nearby watching over you in case something happened.

Your mind races as you hurry to the docks, all the questions bubbling up again that spike your anxiety. The uneven road makes you trip and bump into people passing you by but you don’t much care for their complaints as you make your way down the streets. Your heart is beating fast inside your ribs, almost painfully so, making you feel like you’re drowning again.

Everything comes to a halt around you as all your fears slip clean off your shoulders when you take in the glory that is your family’s ship. You want to break down and cry now that you finally know they’re here and safe but you knock some sense into yourself as you wrack your brain for possible locations they could’ve fled to in this town.

There were several shops and fishermen around trying to sell their wares but you doubt you’d find one of them there, especially with the sun setting already. Then your eyes stop at a shield hanging from one of the big wooden doors around you.

A tavern.

Bingo.

You break out into a sprint again, ripping the door open and startling several of the guests. Ignoring all of their complaints is easy when your eyes zero in on one table in the far back where your father is cackling obnoxiously loud, probably about some lame joke Marlo made.

“Dad!” – you yell and hurry over to their table. When they notice you, everyone’s eyes turn as big as saucers and the table almost topples over with the force of everyone suddenly standing up, trying to get to you first.

This time you really cry when the first pair of arms encircles you, soon to be followed by countless more, the lot of you just ending up in a big cuddle pile.

“You don’t know how much I missed you” – you cry and everyone shares your sentiment.

“We thought you died!”

“How did you survive that?!”

“Where have you been this entire time?!”

“How did you get to this island?!”

You answer all of their questions throughout the evening and in-between beers. For a moment, you think whether to tell them about Hyunjin’s existence or to obscure it to keep him safe in case someone else was listening in on your conversation. You settle on whispering it to your parents while the others are busy getting shitfaced. You’re your parents are surprised would be an understatement and they don’t believe you at first, thinking you might have taken a hit to your head or that you started to hallucinate in your absence.

Your insistence on the truthfulness of your story makes them eventually back down and give in.

“I don’t want to do anything he doesn’t want to, so I don’t know if you’ll ever meet him but… I just wanted you to know that my survival was thanks to a kind soul” – you mumble to them and your own statement makes you suddenly go rigid.

In your revery and celebration you totally forgot that Hyunjin was waiting for you.

You excuse yourself hastily, only your parents knowing the real reason why you would suddenly leave, and run outside to where you had last seen him. New anxieties swirl in your head. What if he left? What if that was it and you never got to say a proper goodbye to him? Thank him for what he’s done?

The coast was entirely clear so you called out to him in the dark.

“Hyunjin?”

Silence.

“Hyunjin? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait for so long!”

The waves softly crash against the shores.

“My parents know about you, I hope that was fine? They’re very grateful, just like I am!”

The sounds of drunken hollering from the town reach your ears but thankfully they’re quiet, too far away to be a concern.

“Please don’t tell me you left…” – your voice gets quieter with each time you call out to him.

That’s when you spot something in the water. Two glowing orbs watching you from beneath the water. A relieved sigh escapes your lungs and your eyes sting, marking the fourth time you want to cry today.

You carefully step to the edge of the water and crouch down to place your hand into the sea. There’s a few moments before the yellow glow starts gliding through the water towards you and something suddenly takes your hand into theirs.

Hyunjin’s head peeks out of the water and you can see him pout.

“I thought you left me for good” – he mumbles into the water and despite his overly dramatic pout, you know he means it.

“I really am sorry… I got carried away after seeing my family again but I should have at least given you a sign or something instead of letting you wait without knowing what’s going on” – you caress his cheek, letting your thumb graze over the miniscule fins protruding from his cheekbones and Hyunjin lets out a soft trill.

“I was scared” – he doesn’t look you in the eyes anymore after his admission and your heart breaks.

“Don’t leave me, you’re all I have” – he sounds so broken, so different from the boy that kept giggling over the dumbest things you told him.

“Hyunjin…”

The water splashes around him when he pushes his body up on the stone, tail flailing behind him. When his hands find purchase on your shoulders, his retracted nails digging into your flesh, you half think he is going to live up to the siren stereotypes and drag you into the depths, but instead, his plush lips crash into yours haphazardly.

For a moment you’re taken aback, the force of the kiss so sudden, but your heart swells when your mind finally catches up to what was happening, your lips starting to move against his.

He tastes salty and a bit fishy, you can feel his fangs when you push your lips against his. Hyunjin is in a constant battle with himself of wanting to savor this and wanting to rush to the next part. His body wins and he timidly licks your lips, requesting you to open your mouth for him.

As you two kiss, pouring every amount of yearning and love into it, your arms circle around his small waist, pulling him further against your body. A pleased trill escapes his lips and you smile against him, licking excitedly into his mouth. You notice his tongue is different from yours, forked at the end and longer overall. Your tongue catches a few times on the many little fangs in his mouth but you don’t mind. Right now, you’re on cloud nine.

“The feelings I have in my chest are too big to put into words” – he says breathlessly when you part, foreheads touching.

“Can you show them to me?”

Hyunjin nearly sobs at your question, his mind pushing him to do a million things at the same time. How does one put their love into actions properly? How could he possibly show you how much you grew to mean to him within the days you spent together with just one action?

The rest of his tail lifts out of the water and envelops you, his arms pushing you to rest your head against his chest as he cradles you.

“My mother used to hold me like this” – he begins quietly, his heart thumping loudly against your ear.

“She said that as long as her heart was beating in her chest and I could hear it like this, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. And even long after the beating of her heart faded out, I could remember it and be sure that for as long as she lived, her heart was beating for me” – he hugs you tighter against his chest, his cheek resting atop your head.

The two of you stay like this for a while, just breathing with each other, feeling each other’s skin. You give little kisses to his chest, finally getting to touch his scales like you wanted to the moment you met him.

“I know it’s not a replacement for what you lost, but for the time being until we find your friends again, if you wanted to, I could probably convince the others to take you with us, you know.”

“You would?”

“Of course I would, you dummy”, you giggle and poke his side and he lets out a trill again, much to your joy.

“My parents already know about you and even though a part of them probably thinks their daughter has lost it, they would accept you without thought. You saved me and showed me more kindness than another human might in a situation like this, you’re probably already part of the crew in their heads.”

Hyunjin sobs and hugs you even tighter to his body, his tail wrapping protectively around your legs.

In the quiet of the night, you two whisper about better tomorrows and a future filled with love to each other.

You don’t return to your family until morning.

-

The introduction between Hyunjin and your family went as well as you could have hoped. While most of them were weary at first, scared, that he was going to turn on them and do siren things to them, they accepted him after seeing that he was equally as shy about meeting them. Plus, they couldn’t argue with you for long when you kept insisting that he was the only reason you were alive right now.

The crew went about loading and repairing the ship from the damages it endured during the battle, meaning that you weren’t going to leave this place for a few days at least. Hyunjin curiously watched the hustle and bustle from a short distance away, not wanting to be in the way or risking getting seen by locals who didn’t know about him.

Your father approaches you on the last day of repairs, asking you to check out a new little addition to the pirate ship, one that has you gasping in happiness.

They decided to add a small, silly lift and a bunch of nets that were sturdy enough to hold Hyunjin on the side of the ship. That way, he could either use the lift with the help of someone on board or climb his way on deck using the nets. With an addition like this you were absolutely sure that Hyunjin was now part of the family and with an excited skip in your step you run to tell him about it.

He seems just as excited about it, his ear fins flickering happily and a huge grin on his face. Just one issue.

“Do you…uhm, have a bucket of water or something for me to sit in? I’m going to dry out otherwise.”

You scratch your head in thought. You kind of forgot that he needs water to survive, never having seen him outside of it for long.

“We got that covered, lad!”, Marnie yells, scaring both of you, as he unloads the last ingredients for the kitchen on deck.

“Near the spot where our dear y/n always sunbathes we put up a big tub already filled with salty sea water for ye!”

Hyunjin’s eyes glitter in joy and he claps his hands together excitedly.

“y/n! Help me up! I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like to be on a big ship like this!”

You chuckle and run on board towards the lift, and with little trouble you get the siren on board. A little more physical effort from both of you is needed to get Hyunjin across the deck and into the tub but when his cute little fish butt hits the water the two of you let out a pleased sigh.

“This is great!” – he trills excitedly, not knowing where to look first.

As Hyunjin takes in all the sights and the difference in height, you take the opportunity to observe the rest of the ship, a sense of calm settling in your chest at the thought of having both your family back and Hyunjin by your side.

-

Travelling with a siren by your side proves to be quite advantageous. The fishing takes half the time with Hyunjin speeding through the nearby waters and snatching up any fish big and beautiful enough to be considered meal-worthy by Marnie while your father desperately tries to do it the old-fashioned way only to lose to the siren every time.

To make up for every defeat, Hyunjin’s second job as a pirate is scouting ahead of your ship to make sure you’re not running into any law enforcement or other pirates that could prove dangerous.

He seems to love being needed for specific tasks.

The next time the opportunity arises for your crew to steal from a rich guy, Arlen casually takes a painting off the wall to offer it to Hyunjin later. He tries to brush it off as not a big deal, yet he can’t escape getting pulled into a big hug as Hyunjin thanks him wholeheartedly.

Arlen would never admit it to anyone but he teared up a bit at the genuine excitement bubbling off the siren just because he gave him a little gift.

The others soon also realised Hyunjin’s love for art so it escalated into something of a tradition for any crewmember to always bring back something from the world of art for their new fish buddy.

-

Today was one of the boring days, the entire crew on land for their business endeavors. The ship wasn’t docked as usual, a short distance away from land so they had to use the row boats to get to their destination. That left Hyunjin and you alone on the boat, lounging about in the sun. He let one arm lazily dangle outside of his tub to hold your hand with.

You suddenly realise that with the entire crew gone, probably until the next day, you could finally get some much needed kisses in. Ever since you took off from Port Vement, Hyunjin and you had to abstain from too much physical contact since you didn’t want to scare your parents with both bringing a real siren to the crew and explaining that he might be their new son-in-law.

Hyunjin cracks his eyes open when he feels your hand caressing his cheek. Without warning, you press a kiss to his lips and he feels like bursting at the seams, after being deprived of your loving touch for so long. It was just the start of your relationship and he immediately had to hold himself back from all the physical affections he wanted to give you. It was kind of unfair.

All the more reason for him to meet your kiss with as much fervor as he could muster. The miniscule fins on his cheekbones tickle you when you deepen the kiss, your tongue gliding over his forked one. Your heart beats erratically at your chest at you finally being able to kiss him again, your desperation transferring over to your movements being overly eager, accidentally knocking your teeth together but Hyunjin doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, it seems to spur him on even more, his hand finding its place on your waist, squeezing your flesh rhythmically.

You decide to be bold and lift your body in the tub, your legs on each side of his tail. Hyunjin looks up at you with an open mouth and big, glazed over eyes, clearly startled.

“Your clothes…”

“Forget about them, Hyune.”

And you descend back on him, your lips clashing with his. Your fingertips graze his ear fins and he lets out a high trill at the back of his throat. They must be sensitive. You store that knowledge in the back of your head for later.

Hyunjin is restless, unsure of where he’s allowed to touch, if he’s supposed to just trust his instincts, let his body do whatever it wanted. You were clearly just doing whatever came to your mind, grinding your core into his tail and letting out small whimpers against his lips that drove him crazy. He needed to know, so he gently pushes you away from him.

“Are you sure?”

You look at him dazed and it seems to take a second before his question registers in your head.

“More than sure. Do whatever feels right, Hyune.”

That about does it for him. His body presses into yours as he attaches his lips on your neck, sucking and peppering it with kisses. Your hands glide over the many fins along his spine, lightly scratching at the base of them and earning another trill from him. Your shirt is discarded haphazardly and thrown somewhere nearby the tub, leaving you bare in front of him. His curious eyes roam hungrily over your chest, a hand coming up to cup your breast experimentally.

“Where can I touch you?” – you breathe against him and Hyunjin suddenly grows shy. A red blush starts to creep up on his neck but he takes one of your hands into his regardless and places it on a specific part on the front of his tail.

“You… you know my ear fins are sensitive and the top of my body works similar to a human’s but, uhm… this is, you know…” – he stammers as you press your fingers into his scales gently. A small slit runs horizontally up his tail between his scales and in a burst of curiosity, you press your fingers inside, causing Hyunjin to throw his head back against the tub and let out a long moan.

“I see” – you tell him and continue to lightly press your fingers against his slippery walls. Your ministrations have him writhing and squirming underneath you, letting out small wanton moans mixed with trills.

Something soon pushes your fingers away and you take a moment to look at the mess Hyunjin had become while you were busy playing with him. He already looked so fucked out, his eyes glossy and glazed over, his hair falling around him messily like a crown, his chest heaving as he looked up at you.

He still was the prettiest thing you ever saw.

“y/n… please…” – he tugs at your pants and you realise you’re still completely dressed from the waist down. You hastily step out of the tub to get rid of the last few offending garments, bearing yourself entirely to him. As you step back in, you see what was pushing against your fingers just a moment ago.

That makes everything a little easier to figure out, as two cocks, similar in color to his tail, protrude from the slit, one a little bit larger than the other. But before you can touch him again, he urges you to sit on the edge of the wooden tub, eager to get his mouth on you. His forked tongue delves between your folds, experimentally licking up and down before focusing its attack entirely on your clit as he suckles.

Your hand tangles itself into his luscious hair, keeping him in place. The effort was kind of in vain because Hyunjin would rather die than part from you at this moment, greedily licking up your juices just to hear more of those melodic moans spilling from your lips. Just as much as you grew obsessed with his fascinating voice and trills, he grew to love your voice the same way.

Carefully, with retracted claws, one of his long fingers prods at your entrance before slipping in until the membrane stopped it from going any further.

“You’re doing so well…” – you praise him and earn a trill, your hands starting to massage his ear fins to give some of the pleasure back.

His ministrations soon bring you to your first climax and leave both of you panting and wanting for more.

Hyunjin eases you back into the tub to hover over his crotch. He gently takes the bigger one of his cocks into his hand, hissing at the contact after going for so long with no touches, and angles it towards your entrance for you to sink down on.

You both moan as you sink down to the hilt, his smaller cock nestling directly against your clit. Time stands seemingly still as you get used to the unusual stretch.

“You okay?” – Hyunjin whispers and soothingly rubs your lower back, his cold hands soothing against your burning flesh. You nod at him, letting your body fall against his, chest against chest, your arms circling around his waist as your face buries itself into his neck.

“Can you move?”

Hyunjin trills and obeys your command without thought, moving his hips in slow motions, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls. The extra stimulation from his smaller cock against your front makes you whine into his neck which you pepper with kisses, his gills fluttering at the caress of your lips.

“You feel so good…” – Hyunjin all but whimpers, his hands finding purchase on your hips to move you against him. You hug his chest tighter as you feel your orgasm build up a second time.

“Can I…uhm-“

“Do whatever you want, Hyune. Please.”

You feel him kiss the crown of your head and his strong tail bracing itself against the wooden tub before his pace gets rougher and faster, water beginning to slosh out at the sides. The drag of his two cocks against you is too much for you, your cunt clenching around him as you come with a strained moan into his chest.

“Ah… I love you, y/n. I love you, I really do. Where do I-“

“Inside.”

“Really?”

“I want all of you, Hyunjin.”

You lift up and take his face between your hands to look at him as his hips stutter into you in an uneven rhythm until you feel his cum filling you up. That trill accompanies his voice even as he comes. He looks beautiful, his eyes full of adoration, his lips slightly apart as he comes down from his high slowly.

You two hold onto each other, just basking in eachother’s closeness for a while before his cock slips out of you, retracting back into his slit now that it’s all over and no longer needed.

“I love you, too, by the way.”

And Hyunjin couldn’t be happier, his ear fins flapping happily as he nuzzles his face further into your hair.

-

You do eventually tell your parents about the relationship between you and Hyunjin and although they seem extremely hesitant at first, they figure they can’t really do anything to stop you from pursuing him with the way he’s bonded to you.

The crew eventually returns to Port Vement to stay there for a few days and Hyunjin and you find yourselves on the same part of the shore where your relationship started taking a turn.

You both lounge about beneath the stars, you tucked carefully into his chest. Originally you were scared that Hyunjin and your world were too different for this to go well but you found that despite him being a sea dweller and kind of a menace sometimes, that the two of you are a better fit than you expected.

When you want to tell him another story from your childhood for old time’s sake, you find him already fast asleep in the sand next to you. You smile and kiss the corner of his mouth before settling back against his chest.

Whatever battles lie ahead, you’re sure Hyunjin would pull you from the depths again and again and anyone daring to attack him for what he was would face your entire crews wrath.

As long as your hearts beat, they beat for eachother, you’re sure of that.

-

taglist: @jeonginsleftcheek

[goldfades]

meeting hayes. | JOE BURROW⁹ [008]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your first couple of days with your little bundle of joy.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | sweet, domestic!joe, fluffy as a little pancake, mentions of pregnancy, babies (yaya!), joe being the sweetest, best dad husband ever, idk what else

APRIL 2022

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖. It wasn’t just the faint, powdery scent of baby lotion lingering in the air or the tiny clothes folded in drawers that made it so. It was quieter but also fuller—like the walls themselves were adjusting to the weight of this new chapter, reshaping to cradle this fragile little life.

You stood in the kitchen, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows in golden beams, and shifted your son higher on your shoulder. His soft breaths puffed against your neck, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your sweatshirt. He’d fallen asleep after his morning feeding, milk drunk and blissfully unaware of the exhaustion etched into every inch of your body.

Joe was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand cradling a mug of coffee and the other absentmindedly running through his hair, which still stuck up wildly from sleep. He was watching you with that soft, faraway look he’d developed since you came home from the hospital, the kind that made your heart clench because it was too much and not enough all at once.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and warm in the quiet kitchen, “he’s got my ears. Poor kid’s doomed.”

You laughed softly, the sound carried on a yawn. “I think he’s perfect.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’re biased.” Joe stood, stretching in that lazy, unbothered way of his that made even mundane movements look effortless. He walked over, leaning down to press a kiss to your son’s head and then to your temple, lingering for just a second. “You need to sit. You’ve been up all night with him. Let me take him for a bit.”

“No, it’s okay—”

“Y/N.” He gave you a look, one eyebrow raised in that teasing but firm way that always made you cave. “Go sit. Or better yet, nap.”

Reluctantly, you handed over the baby, watching as Joe adjusted him with a level of care that never failed to amaze you. For someone who spent his Sundays being tackled by grown men, he handled your son like he was made of glass, his big hands cradling the baby’s tiny body with infinite gentleness.

You sank into the couch in the living room, intending to just sit for a moment, but the pull of sleep was too strong. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was Joe pacing slowly around the room, swaying slightly as he hummed a low, tuneless melody to the baby.

When you woke, the house was quiet except for the distant hum of the washing machine. You stretched, groaning slightly at the ache in your back, and wandered into the nursery, where you found Joe sitting in the rocking chair with the baby cradled against his chest. Both of them were asleep, the baby’s head tucked under Joe’s chin, his tiny hand fisted in Joe’s t-shirt.

For a moment, you just stood there, taking it all in. The sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. The crib sat untouched—Joe always claimed he’d put the baby down, but more often than not, you found them like this, tangled together in peaceful sleep.

You didn’t want to wake them, but the sight was too sweet to resist. Quietly, you crept into the room and placed a kiss on Joe’s forehead, whispering, “I love you.”

Later that day, you all ventured outside for the first time since coming home. Spring had arrived in full force, the backyard bursting with new blooms and the soft buzz of bees flitting lazily between flowers. Joe spread a blanket on the grass, and you sat with the baby nestled in your lap, his tiny hat slightly askew on his head.

Joe stretched out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched the baby with a soft smile. “Do you think he’ll like football?”

You snorted. “I think he’ll like whatever doesn’t involve being tackled.”

Joe laughed, reaching out to adjust the baby’s hat. “Fair enough. But if he doesn’t, Maisie’s going to have a meltdown. She’s already planning his college career.”

The thought made you laugh, but it was also comforting in a way. You couldn’t imagine a future where Maisie wasn’t involved, where she wasn’t there to be the chaotic aunt who spoiled your son rotten.

The afternoon passed in a haze of soft laughter and easy conversation, the kind of day that felt like a balm to your soul. Joe dozed off in the grass, his arm draped protectively over you and the baby, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

This was your season, a time of blooming and growing, of finding joy in the simple, quiet moments. It wasn’t always easy—there were still sleepless nights and overwhelming days—but as you sat there, your little family wrapped in the warmth of spring, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d found your place in the world.

The day melted into evening, the golden hues of sunset fading into the deep indigo of night. The baby had been bathed and fed, his tiny body swaddled snugly in a soft blanket. You and Joe found yourselves in the living room, the baby nestled in your arms while Joe sat beside you, his long legs stretched out on the coffee table.

The glow of the TV provided a muted light, though neither of you were really paying attention to the movie playing. It was just background noise, something to fill the silence while you both lingered in the haze of new parenthood.

“He’s out like a light,” Joe said softly, his voice low and warm as he leaned in to brush a kiss against the baby’s downy head.

You smiled, glancing down at your son’s peaceful face. His tiny lips were slightly parted, and his delicate lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks. “He’s probably the only one sleeping in this house right now,” you teased, your voice equally quiet.

Joe chuckled. “Not my fault he inherited your sleep schedule.”

“You’re hilarious.”

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence. The weight of the baby in your arms and the steady presence of Joe beside you felt grounding, like the world had shrunk to just this room, just this moment.

“We still don’t have a name,” Joe said after a while, breaking the quiet with a small sigh. He leaned back against the couch, his head resting on the cushion as he stared up at the ceiling. “We’ve got to pick something, babe. He’s going to start thinking his name is Little Man.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and tired. “I don’t know, Joe. Nothing feels right.”

“You don’t think Maisie’s suggestion of ‘Captain Joe Jr.’ has a nice ring to it?” he teased, grinning at you.

“Mm, tempting,” you joked, “but I think I’ll pass.”

The conversation fizzled out again, the two of you content to just sit in the quiet, letting the baby’s soft breaths fill the space.

Then, something small and unexpected happened.

A soft breeze stirred through the room, coming from the cracked window that let in the cool spring air. It carried with it the faint scent of freshly mown grass and the distant, earthy aroma of the fields beyond your backyard. The curtains shifted, and in the moonlight streaming through the window, the faintest shimmer of something caught your eye.

You turned your head, craning to see. There, just outside, the moonlight illuminated the grass in silvery hues, creating a soft, glowing haze over the backyard.

“It looks like a painting,” you murmured, your voice tinged with awe.

Joe leaned forward, his eyes following your gaze. “Yeah, it does,” he said, his voice just as soft. “Like one of those fields we used to drive past at night, back home in Athens.”

You blinked, smiling at the memory. The rolling hills, the mist that settled over them in the evenings, the way the moonlight would transform the fields into something almost magical.

“Haze,” you said absentmindedly, the word falling from your lips as if it had been sitting there all along.

Joe turned to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

“Haze,” you repeated, this time with more intention. “Like the mist, the way the light makes everything soft and dreamy.”

He tilted his head, considering it. “Haze… that’s kind of nice.”

A pause. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, you both looked down at the baby. He shifted slightly in his sleep, his little hand poking out of the blanket to rest on your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Hayes,” Joe said, testing it aloud. His voice was quiet, reverent, like he was speaking something sacred into existence. “With a Y. Hayes.”

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the softness in his expression. “Hayes,” you echoed, and the name felt like a breath of fresh air, like the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place.

Joe leaned in, brushing his knuckles gently over the baby’s cheek. “Hey, Little Man,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet affection. “Looks like you’ve got a name now.”

And just like that, under the soft glow of moonlight and the warmth of shared memories, your son became Hayes—a name born not from deliberation or debate, but from the quiet magic of a simple moment shared between the three of you.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[glass--beach]

feels like the entire plot of the half life series emerged from the game design decision to never take control away from the player, even in “cutscenes”. it’s all fixated on agency - in half life 1, the heavily controlled environment of a laboratory is thrown into chaos and invaded by more powerful forces, the US government and an alien monarch. in half life 2, it’s a totalitarian regime and a struggle for freedom for the masses. all of the enemies share the common theme of not being control of their bodies: zombies, aliens controlled by the nihilanth, heavily disciplined soldiers, the antlion hivemind, combine drones (valve has explicitly said they worried players would not want to kill them if they looked too human). Gordon Freeman himself is famously an empty husk only given life through the player’s input (the games constantly lampshade his muteness). the only flavor he gets is being a white male with a STEM degree, so basically a reflection of the majority of valve employees and what they would likely unconsciously consider “default” or unremarkable. attention is always called to those rare moments where control must be taken from the player, which is why both games begin on trains, the player is literally being “railroaded,” and the game truly starts once you begin walking freely.

taken at face value, it’s one subject vs a world of objects. (garry’s mod even takes this a step further by turning the player into god, the world into props, characters into dolls.) in reality though, this is an obfuscation. the games, like all singleplayer games, are a dialogue between player and developer, but through famously relentless playtesting valve has made their hand as invisible as possible. they have prioritized above all else the idea that the player should always feel they are singlehandedly guiding their actions, unaware of subconscious details like lighting, framing, sound, etc that direct the player along a predetermined path.

this is why the G-man is so interesting: he IS valve, the true higher power in this virtual world, the actual Other. he decides when the games start and end. he decides where the games will take place. in half life alyx we even see him retcon one of the previous games. it’s through his existence that the player can even be a meaningful subject in the world, as he is the only one who talks to YOU, the player, not the mind-controlled object that is Gordon Freeman, and he too experiences the world of half life as a fiction controlled by forces outside of the bounds of its reality. he is a constant reminder of the flimsiness of the solipsistic fantasy inherent to single player video games, and therefore proves that in real life too we are not just one single conscious mind in a world of NPCs, that meaningful difference does exist, and that our experience is so often a product of something beyond ourselves

[bbasorexja]

☽ — Patience and its rewards.

caelus x fem!reader. extra smut. overstimulation, creampie, oral sex (f. receiving), implicit sex marathon, implicit somnophilia; lmk if i missed any. minors and blank blogs dni.

Your brain was melting from the intense pleasure. The slamming of the headboard against the wall accompanied each thrust of Caelus, his dick ramming your insides like nothing before. Your moans were a sinful melody echoing against the walls of your bedroom, and you were glad the Express was currently empty, the rest of the crew away somewhere.

«Fuuuck-» Caelus moaned. Grabbing your right leg, he hooked it over his shoulder. His lips found the inner side of your thigh, and you felt his teeth sink in the supple flesh. You moaned again, back arching off the bed as you gripped tightly at the crumpled sheets. Another orgasm building up, another peak you knew the other wasn't going to let you experience — this has been going on for a while, now.

In between your fried nerves, you could barely still remember how the two of you got to this lewd point. And the fact that those thick inches of his were capable of reaching points you didn't even know you had, made it even harder to remember.

You two were patching each other up after a not-so-pleasant encounter with some rude vagrants at the Great Mine. Sure, you and Caelus did kick their butts, but they also stood their ground until the very end. And when you two got back on the Express, you rushed to go get a first aid kit.

You were used to the sight of your companions, and people in general, being half undressed when getting their wounds treated. But something primal stirred within you when Caelus had to shred off his coat and the white tee, his battered skin and bulging muscles on full display for you to feast your eyes on — how the hell did this guy hide such mass under those clothes?

Yet, you had to remain a professional, for what you could, at least. But it was so damn hard to do so, with this menace (a sexy menace, you had to remember) sitting on your bed, legs spread wide to make some space for you, hands dipping down into the mattress to support his weight on them. And those golden eyes of his... he was devouring you, you could feel that. That, and probably he was also fucking you into the sheets like a wild, dirty animal. It didn't take you much to find out that he actually was, did.

Before you could reach the orgasm you were longing for, Caelus pulled out, the emptiness and coldness making you whine in protest. He chuckled at your annoyance, his dick throbbing at the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing, when those warm walls of yours begged to be stuffed by him once again. In a moment, he told himself. He had to taste you first.

Flipping you on your stomach, the grey-haired Trailblazer grabbed the plush of your butt cheeks and pushed them up in the air, your dripping core right before his awaiting mouth. His hot breath made you sigh, before yet another moan fell from your kiss-swollen lips as he licked over the engorged bundle of nerves, purple from the overstimulation.

«Caelus, please!» You cried out, your grip on the poor pillow tightening, your toes curling from the overwhelming pleasure.

Tears formed in your eyes, mouth agape in a silent cry for more, for that sweet release you so desperately craved. Torture, it was absolute torture! That devilish tongue expertly lapping at your folds, not a single drop of sweet juice going to waste and, instead, coating his lips as it mixed up with his own drool.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull, chest heaving with short and quick breaths, clearly overwhelmed. Your fingers found the ashen locks behind your back, and you tugged, harshly, eliciting a snarl from the guy. Caelus slapped your clit, and your thighs squeezed his head in response; he had to pry them open with brute strength to have some movement freedom again.

«Please! Please... I beg you!» You cried out again, tears gathering in your waterline once again. This was maddening, cruel! «I need it! Please! Caelus!»

Another pained cry left your lips in frustration when the Trailblazer pulled his mouth away from your folds, and your tears spilled out, jaws clenched in annoyance. You felt like your teeth were about to break from the sheer strength, but luckily, that didn't happen. You were this close to turn around and strangle the idiot, when a harsh slap on your ass brought you back down from your anger.

«Relax, I'm done playing» He stated, his voice a low, smooth caress to your ears.

You were again on your back, legs up in the air, Caelus's hands on the back of your thighs as your ankles rested on his broad shoulders, keeping you exposed to his hungry gaze. The fat tip of his cock, covered in a thick layer of your slick and his pre-cum, twitched against your bottom lips. You moaned at the feeling as his fingers gripped at the supple flesh of your thighs.

He drove his hard length back between your warm walls, the stretch a much welcome feeling. More moans fell from your lips until he bottomed out, the leaking tip rubbing at your sweet spot, and you whined. The thrusts also came back, harder and stronger than before, harsh slaps of skin on skin as you got drilled into the beaten mattress. Tears gathered in your eyes, your breath taken away from your lungs. Moans upon moans slipped past your swollen lips, free to bounce on the walls in a sinful symphony with the squelching and slapping of slicked skin and heavy balls on your ass.

Caelus's hands found your breasts, deft fingers pulling and flicking the hardened nipples, and he groaned at that, knowing it was because of him — him and him only, as he was the one who reduced you in such a pathetic, horny state.

A shudder ran down your spine before you arched it off the mattress, your legs tight around the Trailblazer's neck. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge, faster, harder, stronger, building up the momentum of the promised swet release. The thick tip kept bullying your insides, hitting the deepest, farthest corner of your pussy, and the walls got stretched to accomodate the girthy length. The grey-haired guy's breath hitched in his throat, fingers squeezing tight the tender flesh of your thighs. Close, he was so damn close, each thrust more frantic than the previous, more aggressive, more desperate. Caelus was desperate to feel you, feel your walls squeeze him tight, milk him dry for all of his worth. And then, you filled up to the brim, overflowing, your trembling pussy leaking his warm cum because it was just too much and you couldn't possibly keep it all inside.

That vision had been enough, for both of you. You, too, were fantasizing about a nasty cream creampie, being filled up with so much cum it would have formed a bulge in your abdomen from the sheer quantity. Perverts, both of you.

«Cae-»

«Damn-»

«'m... I'm!-»

«Yes!»

Stars exploded in your eyes, white dots blinding you. A high-pitched scream fell from your lips, the name of your partner a yelled prayer as your legs shook on his shoulders. Caelus tried his best to keep you still, he did, but it was too much. Too strong, too overwhelming, too hot. You were just too much, too sexy, too beautiful as you got stuffed full of his cum and his cock, a bulge in your abdomen from his presence. His. Presence.

Thick spurts of warm cum shoot deep inside, your walls painted white. Your knuckles, too, were white, from the strength you were gripping on the pillow. The thrusts lost speed and roughness, but they were just as deep, languid strokes driving you two back down from cloud nine.

You collapsed on the mattress, boneless, absolutely spent. It had been the best orgasm of your life, completely life-changing. Had you known Caelus packed that much in both terms of presence and skills, you would have gotten him into your bed earlier, much earlier.

As your eyes fell close, you took deep breaths to try and calm down, the erratic pace of your heartbeat thumping loud in your ears. It didn't last long, though, and you were back on your stomach, ass up in the air, hands behind your back. Your eyes widened in shock, terror and a flicker of newly sparked arousal, feeling the grey-haired guy's cock still hard against your entrance.

«You wanted more? You begged for a release?» He exhaled, and you were more than sure he was smirking, that devilish curve that had your stomach churn.

The hand that didn't bind your wrists reached up your head, grabbing a fistful of disheveled locks. He tilted your head backwards, back arched deeply as his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, a low, husky tone that had your ruined walls clench around nothing.

«Now I'm gonna fuck all the orgasms I denied you inside that eager pussy of yours. And you, like a good slut, are gonna take them all.»

Your eyes were wide with terror and arousal upon hearing his words. He had denied you a dozen of orgasms, at least — even more, maybe, but you had lost count a while ago. You only knew he spent a good amount of time teasing you. Goosebumps rose on your skin at the thought, but the wetness you felt dripping down to your thighs betrayed your eagerness at the impending marathon. The thought of being fucked senseless had you lose your breath, gasping for air in the hot room.

You would have passed out before Caelus could be done, but even then, you wouldn't have minded it. Hell, maybe you would have woken up still getting fucked, a puddle of slick and cum under your ass and coating your bodies, pussy so raw it was ten times more sensitive. The mere thought was enough to have you drool.

A crazed smile graced your lips when the thick length slammed inside you once again, the brutal thrusts resuming their punishing pace.

© Intellectual property of @bbasorexja. Do not steal, copy, mimick, translate, or feed to AI.

[pricegouge]

Haul

Part Seven MDNI

master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

cw: abuse. like a lot. it's bad. idk how to tag it but i don't want to blindside anyone so: they play at drowning reader.

One of them is always home. That's the important part. Which is why it takes you a minute to realize when the ringing of the landline above you goes on too long, each shrill call rousing you slowly, dulled by layers of soundproofing and the fog of your depressive rest. You crumble when you roll over, stare apathetically up at the cobwebs above you and will Price to answer the damn thing already, then cock your head in confusion as another ten rings sound off, undisturbed. When it does die off, it's a slow peter out instead of the abrupt stall mid-ring, like when John plucks it from the receiver with an impatient hand. Whoever was on the other end has hung up, sick of waiting on an answer that wasn't coming. Was John out? Were they all out?

A potential way out of the warehouse won't do much good if you don't have a way out of your room, but it's hard to test the limits of your enclosure without tipping John off, now that you know for certain he is watching. So instead, you watch back, carefully documenting the movements of each of the boys. Dissecting patterns you'd noticed in the past but not thought much of. They handle you in shifts, when available, and visit you as a team more often than not. As far as you can tell, they do not relock the door after themselves when inflicting themselves upon your room. You're sure this speaks to the impossibility of the lock, and their disinterest in tempting fate, but it also speaks to their confidence in their ability to physically retain you themselves if it comes to it - and they've given you no reason to doubt it yet. Sometimes, when inclined to keep yourself up at night, you think about all the women who've come before you, all the trial and error the boys must have gone through to arrive at this risky procedure, and pinning your hope on ambushing one of them when they come fetch you for breakfast sounds more and more like a good way to have your corpse scavenged by coyotes off some disused highway in Southern Nebraska. And you're not ready for that easy-out, at least not yet.

So you mentally map the warehouse instead; every inch of it that you've seen, at least. The small area with pallet racking where the overhead doors spell deceptively easy freedom, the attached kitchen area and the office space off of it. There's a short hallway past the bathroom lined with closed doors. Your best assumption is that this is where the boys sleep, though you've yet to be trusted in their rooms. They let slip stories sometimes however, past girls they've made warm their beds. They phrase it as a treat, a privilege to look forward to. When you note the absence of locks on the outsides of the doors, you almost agree.

You have options, when you get creative. In addition to the hope for a night behind an unlocked door, there are times when they turn their backs on you a beat too long, or when they forget to parade you around the warehouse with a hand on your back. It would just take one sidestep to start, a quick dart out of their reach before the most high stakes game of hide and seek ever played. There's plenty of places to lose yourself in the warehouse, especially if you can time it to coincide with a day when most of them are out on jobs, or asleep. The problem with that, however, is, aside from John, none of them seem to have very dependable schedules, and you don't want to miss one of very few opportunities to hitch a ride with another trucker if you're biding your time for a chance to escape when fewer people are home, just to let months pass and find there are no such chances. It's not something you can bank on anyway, not when you've no way of keeping track of them. You do try to, though, carefully rehashing your deck of cards so that the suites read off like a flush, ace through king, before re-counting out the days in your passed pile. Now whenever a full suite changes you'll know you've been there another two weeks, and some change. (Is that a fortnight? The itch you get for the internet always strikes you at the weirdest times.) With that in place, you create a system of particular notches to tear into the cards to denote what days which boys are missing. But when the deck runs out and you've still not discerned a pattern, you give up on maintaining your marks.

One of them is always home. That's the important part. Which is why it takes you a minute to realize when the ringing of the landline above you goes on too long, each shrill call rousing you slowly, dulled by layers of soundproofing and the fog of your depressive rest. You crumble when you roll over, stare apathetically up at the cobwebs above you and will Price to answer the damn thing already, then cock your head in confusion as another ten rings sound off, undisturbed. When it does die off, it's a slow peter out instead of the abrupt stall mid-ring, like when John plucks it from the receiver with an impatient hand. Whoever was on the other end has hung up, sick of waiting on an answer that wasn't coming.

Was John out? Were they all out?

When the telephone rings again, you about jump out of your skin. It's annoying, a noise you can see when it rattles around your skull and that familiar blind spot blooms in your bad eye. You rub the tension from your temples delicately, not for the first time wondering if this is just something you'll have to live with now. Agitated, you pull yourself from the bed and grab the stool to bang on the ceiling, as if your upstairs neighbor is being quite inconsiderate. Of course, even if they do hear you, they do nothing to fix the situation because they don't care, or because they like torturing you. Probably both. So you try your own switch, the one that rings a separate phone upstairs - the one they've never yet ignored except when punishing you rather severely. 

Only, they ignore it now - the dual ringing of the receivers thrumming in your eardrums, stirring ill-advised thoughts to the surface.

For the first time since arriving, it's possible no one's watching. 

Fuck, you hadn't accounted for this. In all your imaginative planning, you'd never considered what you could do from your little cell because the obvious answer is, nothing. Even with no one home and no one to stop you from just walking out, there's not a damn thing you can do. The locks don't magically give when you try them; no window manifests above the foundation level for you to pull yourself out through. You kick the door out of frustration, and then bite your lips in fear when you realize that John might see that when he reviews the tapes later and get mad that you've damaged his door for no reason, because even if you somehow manage to force the lock bolts clean through the frame, there's still the trap door at the top of the stairs which you're fairly certain they padlock when you're below. You can just see them now, laughing cruelly as you fail to break the reinforced frame from the rotted sash, their faces glowing in the pale light from whatever outdated CRT screen they probably still -.

Now there's a thought. One that will likely get you punished more severely than you have yet, but perhaps worth it all the same.

If you can find the surveillance equipment and trash it before they get home in time to stop you, you could spend your days doing useful things, like fashioning weapons, or working out so you stand a better chance of outrunning them when you decide to make a break for it. 

If they let you keep functioning limbs.

Your hands shake when you make up your mind, rifling through the room like a madman. There aren't many fixtures in which to hide something, but with the exposed rafters you can see clearly enough that it's not some average dome camera. Tearing everything you can away from the walls, you search first through the mounted furniture, trying to find where any cords might run through the walls. You think you've got it when you flick the desk legs and find them hollow, imagining the feedline tunneling down through your unfinished floor, but a thorough inspection reveals nothing out of the ordinary, and the more you think about it, the less sense it makes that John could have known about your little card trick if the camera was set up close enough that such activity would have likely been out of frame. 

The ringing finally stops when you turn back toward the bed - abrupt, yanked from the receiver. Fear courses through you like icewater, spilling over your skin in a wave of goosebumps. You could stop now, hunker in bed and pretend nothing happened. But if the camera wasn't in the desk, it's likely in the bed frame - the only other mounted piece of furniture - which means it very much did see you, transmitted every second of your frantic search for something, and if they come asking about your odd behavior and you've no explanation, you're going to get the same punishment you would have anyway, without the added benefit of having blinded them.

Over your head, John's raspy laugh booms dully through the ceiling, and your temple aches with it. 

Fuck it, an eye for an eye.

Adrenaline high, you work more efficiently than you would have thought possible even just moments ago. Figuring that if you were a collection of sick monsters with a little pet caged in your basement, you'd want a good view of their bed, you try the head post first, the one in the corner which would allow them to see the room nearly in its entirety. It's a cheap frame. Metal, so they can mount bindings to it, probably, but unreliably assembled, especially when the cap piece is missing a screw, replaced instead by a pin-prick camera. 

Your thumb finds the hollow texture first, the second socket you try. You duck down to be sure, and smile cheekily at the glint of glass you find there, a dark hole in the brass fixture you're upset you've never noticed before. The cap puts up little fight when you yank on it, the decorative piece held in place only by tiny, eighth-inch screws. After the first one dislodges, the thin trim of the post bends enough you can peel the whole thing back like a sardine lid, and you peer inside the hollow of the post to find the bulk of the camera, corded down through the floor much as you'd expected. After the struggle of the cap piece, the camera and its mount look like no trouble at all, except you can't quite reach it, fist too fat to properly fit through the opening and you hiss in frustration, shoving your hand through until the warped metal and the dangling screw bite into your flesh. 

Retreating with a huff, you cast about for some sort of tool to use and freeze when you think you hear the quiet sound of the trap door opening. Stillness follows, so vital you think your heart even stops beating, every cell in your body waiting for the familiar tread of heavy boots on the top step. The moment drags on, long enough you begin to doubt yourself, long enough your lungs heave from disuse when the tread finally lands, and John begins his descent. 

No time. No time. Your knuckles catch first on the metal but it's no matter, not when you keep shoving past it, feel the raw edge dig into the heel of your hand. You gasp in pain, fingers slipping over the edge of the camera when the blood begins to flow down your palm but you grit your teeth through another push, breath laboring through a grimace more than a smile when you finally catch the mount in a firm grip and yank, tossing the little electronic on the floor and stomping on it, barefoot and wincing, just as John finally disengages the last lock, swinging the door open to find you, panting and successful, leaning over the broken remnants like Ali over Liston. 

***

It's a short-lived victory.

Turns out you weren't home alone, the boys all sidling through the side door where Johnny had sprayed you down when John calls for them, dragging you through the warehouse by your hair and weathering the viscous kicks you land on him with insultingly little reaction. You yell in frustration when they filter through the door, try to drown out the sound of John's barked orders with a shriek of your own. It earns you a hard slap and nothing more, your head whipping around so fast you don't see when Simon's arms wrap around your waist, tilt your world on its side as he drags you to the bathroom.

The faucet is already running, the water filling the tub so frigid that it emanates, soothes the ache in your fist even as you make it worse, clawing at the hands which disrobe you unceremoniously. You don't truly start to panic until Johnny squeezes in after as well, frame so wide he jostles everyone to the edges of the room so he can hand John a length of rope, fibrous and coarse, before slipping away again, lingering in the frame with Kyle.

Your eyes dart from the cord to the tub, a halfhearted shiver running through you as you try to dislodge Simon one last time. John notes your sudden docility with a humorless smile, taking in the blood on your hand and foot disinterestedly. "Did that to herself," he tells his assembled audience blandly, even though they didn't ask. He stands too close over Simon's shoulder, stares you down as he asks if they can guess what you did. In the stretch of silence that follows, John prompts you to fill them in with a thick, arched brow.

"Smashed the camera in my room," you whisper, voice drowned out by the thundering of water from the tub. 

"Not so brave now, are you?" John snarls, his hand reaching around Simon viper-quick to bury itself at your scalp, wrenching your head to look at the boys crowded in the doorframe. Kyle has the decency to look mildly concerned, but Johnny's eyes are alight with the same mania you'd seen in him the night he killed Ash. Your voice is stronger than you expect it to be when you answer, a level of spite you didn't know you were capable of. 

"I smashed the camera in my room."

Johnny just laughs. "Now why would ye go an' do a daft thing like tha'?"

Snark sits on your tongue, slips blessedly down the back of your throat when John crowds behind you, tips your head back into his shoulder so he can press his teeth too far into the tender arch of your cheek. "Because she's not so fuckin' smart. Simon." John shoves at your shoulder until you face the other man completely, nose pressed into the hard plane of his sternum. "Hold her still."

Simon's arms are like a steel cage when they wrap around your shoulders, pinning your elbows back behind your waist as far as you can manage. You stamp on his foot on instinct, bloodied sole scraping over the eyelets of his boots. John just kicks your ankle savagely, bodies himself between your legs. The rope smarts when he weaves it between your forearms, a ladder of ties running from your elbows to your hands which do not give an inch when you test them. John yanks the remaining length like a leash after fashioning them too-tightly around your wrists, the knobs of your carpels bulging as blood pools in your fingertips, the trickle of blood from your palm pulsing.

You only know he's crouched behind you when Simon lifts and a callused hand wraps around your bare ankle, the rough saw of jute following after. Panicked, you kick wildly, but John dodges the first and catches your free leg under his armpit on the second. When you wriggle, Simon just crushes you to his chest until your breath wheezes from you and John ties his first knot much too short, your back straining with the arch he's forced.

The way he manhandles your last limb into place despite your struggles would be embarrassing, if you weren't too preoccupied by the growing pit of fear in your belly, or the way it's so hard to breathe when Simon bears all your weight with a compressing grip around your chest. It makes your head throb, vision darkening in your bad eye where it was already struggling after John's slap. So it's nearly a relief when John takes some of your weight, his hands wrapping around your calves with bruising force. Simon shuffles his grip, your body tilting dangerously forward until his big hands wrap around your upper arms. You dangle between them as they turn toward the tub, and then you watch, upside down and one-eyed, as John hikes a leg up over to the far ledge of the bath and they begin to lower you, face first. 

You scream when your hips sink past the frigid surface first, Simon lowering your top half quick enough that water floods your mouth and you arch your back as much as you're able, spitting and gurgling as your head breaches the surface. With the faucet still running, the water rushes around you, splashing over the side as you twist about, trying to get your knees under yourself. A sharp crack sounds behind you, and you turn to find its source just as John canes you over the ass with a broken off broom handle, Johnny tossing the head of it down the hall. 

Crying out, you tip forward again and panic when you crash through the water, more so when your knees jerk back and your nose slams off the basin. You feel your restraints being pulled back - hard, and harder - before suddenly slackening, just a touch. Not enough to let you get your knees back under yourself.

Your back aches with the strain of pulling yourself up, shoulders bearing most of your weight. You gasp when you pull your head above water, engage your biceps enough to keep yourself there while you test your restraints. From the corner of your eye, you see the broom handle overhanging the edge of the tub, laid flat across the top to keep you suspended by your bindings, must be. Sputtering, you try to orient yourself, figure out the depth of your situation by reminding yourself it's only a tub, and not that deep. But the arch it forces your spine to maintain, and the stress of disused muscles after months of atrophy just laying about combine with the frigid cold to conspire against you, leave you too shivery and weak to maintain the hold for long and you relax just a touch, mouth still above level, just to flinch back up when the bubbling of the surface splashes into your nose, makes you cough. 

Over the thundering of the pipes, you hear a familiar growl, too close to your ear. "Don't look so fucking clever now."

"John, please," you sob, twisting until you can see his shoulder in your peripheral, Johnny's eager face beyond it.

"Shut the fuck up," John hisses, dunking your head back under with a heavy palm on the back of your head. He lets you squirm for what feels like minutes, only dragging you back up when your panicked movements slow. You swallow more water than you spit out when he pulls you back up, breaths ripping through your esophagus like white water rapids. 

Over the sound of your coughing, Kyle's voice is loud and patronizing when he asks why you had to go and ruin a good thing. "Thought we were all getting along, luv. What drove you to do such a stupid thing?"

You want to tell him to go fuck himself, can't for the water pouring from your nose. Probably for the best.

"We feed you, clothe you, bathe you," John ticks each item off with a quick dunk beneath the surface, just enough to feel the sting of water. Johnny laughs at the last one, throws a bar of soap into the tub. "And you show us your thanks by breaking my expensive fucking camera?"

It seems foolish, in retrospect, the possibility that they could simply replace it - tonight, even - only occurring to you now, now that the urgency of a snap decision has worn off and you're faced with the repercussions you'd shrugged off earlier. 

They might kill you. You might drown in a dirty trucker tub.

John drops you as if disgusted and you fight to pull yourself up again, your hip glancing off the bar of soap when you finally get it and dropping you back under. John waits patiently for you to resurface, watches as you cough up as much as you can before speaking again. "Shoud just fucking leave you there."

You don't realize you're crying until your breath rips out in a sob of fear, the tears blending with the bathwater. It shouldn't be a relief when Johnny pipes up.

"Ach, if ye wan' tae kill her, at least let us have some fun wi' it."

Response barely audible over the water, you strain your ear to hear John's low pitch. "What did you have in mind?"

Johnny's eager, answer too ready. "Nothin' wrong wi' a good chase."

"Si's favorite," John agrees, contemplative.

"If we kill her, we have to find a new one," Simon counters, sounding almost bored. "Sounds like a lot of work."

"Gotta agree with Ghost," Kyle offers. "Kinda like this one, when she's not being a bitch."

You measure the silence in heartbeats, your vision tunneling with each dull thump in your chest. When John speaks again, he's deliberately louder, voice carrying enough that you don't have to strain to hear. "Alright. Compromise. We'll have a good chase, but winner gets to decide what we do with her." He leans close, his next words spoken against the shell of your ear. "So you'd best hope it's not Johnny who catches you."

[rodanseys]

ok i finished my yearly reread of trc and i must say something!!! it is likely someone already said on the internet far before me, but i must say it!!!!

and that thing is how trb and trk mirror one another because of the inversion of adam and gansey's function within the narrative.

obviously, in trb, we see adam sacrifice himself to cabeswater. it is a huge risk, yes, but it's true to adam's character because he's willing to do what gansey isn't because he thinks choosing anything other than listening to gansey is freedom. as a result, he's the leader of the group for most of the series. the first thing gansey does when interacting with adam is ask adam a qeustion. adam is consantly called on over the course of the series to find an alternative solution when gansey can't- he even mentions that in his own monologing (i think in bllb). the gray man refers to the gangsey, as we all know, as "adam parrish and his band of merry men." in other words, he is the king, driven by duty, both that he cannot choose bc of his upbringing and that he chooses bc he can't understand what true freedom yet.

meanwhile, we see development of gansey as the poet. he's the heart of the quest, the person who believes in it to make others believe. this is especially true in trk, where its repeatedly pointed out that gansey can say things in his Gansey voice and making them true. this not only reinforces his place as the poet, but his own (and other characters') awareness of it.

so there's been established and really, really hammered-over delegation of adam as the king and gansey as the poet. then, in trk, we have the scene where adam is being taken over by the demon that's also taking over cabeswater. at the end of that chapter, he is able to regain control over the demon and separate it from cabeswater simply by saying his eyes and hands belong to him again- like gansey would. liek a poet would! his necesity to do this within the plot, the obviousness of him doing this as a chracter (he never wanted to be controlled, just gansey's equal, but he couldn't realize the difference yet) also means that he has moved into the role of the poet (and what could be more of gansey's equal than him becoming who gansey was within the plot?). this leaves the king role, as a narrative function, finally open for gansey to fill.

and it works because we've already seen gansey becoming increasingly anxious throughout trk. he's feeling this sense of power start to shatter, the fear of a life after glendower. but he knows he must finish what he started. how is this shown in the text? when he leaves in the middle of the night to find glendower- a literal repetition of adam leaving alone to sacrifice himself on the line. but, this time, gansey is the one to initiate. he's finally on his way to becoming a king, figuratively and literally. but then, we realize geldower is dead. and this is where this mirroring becomes so rich and fascinating to me.

but why? because gansey, after discovering glendower is dead, also discovers something contradictory to the way this story must go: "glendower was dead. gansey kind of wanted to live." the moment after he realizes it, he becomes so afraid of receiving pity because of his selfishness to live outside the bounds of responsibility thrust upon him. he never had that before. no one stopped him from searching for glendower, from being obsessed. he had the time, money, resources, and charm (unlike adam) to pull off this really kind of ridiculous activity. but, now, he finally uderstands what it meant to sacrifice and it brings up a vulnerability he doesn't know what to do with.

and guess who else dealt with reponsibilites thrust upon them that they didn't know what to do with? who was afraid of being pitied instead of respected as a response? adam! gansey's becoming more like adam. like the king! and the narrative literally acknowledges this: "for the first time, gansey understood adam parrish perfectly."

so, of course, like adam, he must sacrifice something to achieve the actual power of the king in the narrative. so he does. he kisses blue and sacrifices his life. and how is it written? "he fell from her arms. he was a king." he was a king!!!! he was actually a king!!! because, like glendower, he was dead. he couldn't be glendower (which is all he wanted to be- brave, respected, loved, remembered) without dying. because glendower died! and gansey wanted to live! but he couldn't. because he couldn't be who he wanted to be without also taking on the responsibility of what it meant to be that person. he never reallt understood this; adam always did.

i really appreciate this inversion because it gives precedence to their friendship on the plot level: both of them had to meet, to get to know each other, to fight for the plot to start. but then, they had to understand each other, to work hard to love each other, and actually end up on the inverted of the narrative in order to become who they needed to be for the plot to conclude. and it also reinforces another large theme of the series: time as something cyclical. gansey living adam's younger years while adam lives gansey's. that this was required for them to know and love each other fully and for gansey to come back to life and not "throw it away."

[hannahbarberra162]

Heat Transfer, Chapter 4 (Platonic Yandere WBP x Sea Naga)

On Ao3

<3 Thank you to @gouraminnow for Beta-ing this and all my thoughts <3

All the other chapters

Baby's first swear :3

Your POV

You watched Ace’s fire hand wide eyed and curious. He was made of fire , that’s why he was so warm, that’s why he could heat rooms so easily, that’s why you were drawn to him. Your sisters had told you some humans were special but not that they could be made of fire. You watched as Ace heated the food and popped the eye in his mouth, crunching it between his embarrassingly flat teeth. You weren’t sure when he became fire and he became flesh, but you were interested.

“ ‘S good,” he said in a happy tone, extinguishing the fire and curling his fingers into his palm and extending only his thumb upwards. You hesitantly brought your forefinger to touch his thumb, trying to determine the trigger for when he turned into fire. When his thumb didn’t ignite, you took his hand and uncurled his fingers gently, rubbing his hand with the pads of your finger. Ace watched you calmly, letting you take his larger hand in your own webbed one. Scraping at his palm gently with a claw so as not to harm him, he seemed to be made of normal human flesh once again. 

“H-hey, that tickles,” he said, yanking his hand away from you. Did you make him annoyed? You wished you could communicate with him easily but you appreciated that he was speaking to you so much, you were hoping to learn human quickly. You clawed another eye out of the fish, extending it to him. You wanted him to make the fire again, maybe he could only summon it for food? He looked at you with his brows drawn slightly and his head tilted, but shrugged and turned his hand to fire once more. You watched intently, looking above and below his wrist for the billowing flames to engulf him. Reaching out, you grasped his forearm below the flame - it was perfectly fine, uncharred and surprisingly not overly warm. Curious. How much of his body could he make into flame?

“Oh, that’s what you want? Heh. Watch this,” Ace said to you as he chewed the second eye. You hoped he appreciated it, those were your favorite parts of the fish. You were taken aback as Ace’s lower half turned to flames, propelling the small boat towards the larger one at a rapid pace. It felt like when your sisters let you hold on to their hair when they swam - freedom coming as fast as you could take it. You laughed out loud with your mouth wide open, something your sisters told you was entirely from your human half, winding your tail around the pole in the middle of the boat. You threw your arms in the air, feeling your hair whip around your face. Pushing yourself higher on your tail, you closed your eyes and enjoyed the rush that came with moving so quickly as Ace maneuvered the boat towards the larger ship. Looking at it, you realized the front looked like a happy whale, which you found charming. Maybe the Captain could turn into a whale like Ace could turn into fire? It would explain his larger size and maybe he could swim with you in the sea.

It was already night when Ace brought you back to the ship, the smell of food wafting through the air. You wanted to show that you were capable and a worthy fighter so you quickly dove into the water to retrieve a fish for Meatman to cook. Maybe he’d be impressed with your kill - or better yet - cook it for you to eat. Biting a rather large Bananafish that was lingering near the side of the ship, you hauled it up the rope ladder, looped in your tail as Ace moored his boat to the larger one. As your toxin spread the fish stopped wiggling though you knew it was still alive, keeping it perfectly fresh, how humans liked. 

Reaching the top deck, you slithered towards the food that was being laid on the large tables. The Meatman would likely be near if he was the one preparing the food. You stabbed the fish through with your talons in order to slither better. Finding the unique head adornment of Meatman, you came closer to him. He was clearly in the middle of preparing the great feast but you wanted to give him your present while it was alive. You scrunched your face trying to remember what greeting the humans usually gave one another besides ‘hi,’ you’d heard it before….

“Oi!” you settled on, throwing the fish at his feet. Though surprised at your presence, Meatman quickly bared his teeth at you in happiness. Almost too happily, you thought with suspicion. You’d keep your distance, this one was more devious than he let on. But..you had bitten him twice and he didn’t even seem upset about it, so maybe he was just…like that.

“Baby! Oh my seas, you brought me a fish! Thank you, oh - it’s…still alive….but not moving…how very thoughtful! ” the cook said to you, taking the fish in hand. He bowed his head, showing his appreciation. It was a universal gesture, your sisters bowing their heads slightly when you’d help them in some kind of way, like removing debris from their hair.

It was a pleasant night though a bit chilly, you thought as you glanced around for some warmth. Spotting Fossa, you headed over to him, winding your body around his torso underneath his vest since Ace still wasn’t on the deck. He had a smoke stick lit in his mouth, the putrid smoke billowing as he spoke to another human.

“ Oi, Baby. Warn me next time, yer fuckin’ freezin’,” Fossa grumbled as he adjusted you closer to his body. You inspected the pocket that had held the biscuits but the two of you had drained it earlier, there were no sweets there. Grumbling, you flicked your tail as Fossa continued to talk to another human while everyone waited for dinner. This one dressed differently, his robes as smooth as his long black hair. He had paint on his face, something novel for you. Apparently your sisters had glossed over a lot in your discussions about humans. He was glancing at you curiously, like you were a puzzle to be solved. 

“Bring her here,” the painted man said, taking a small comb out of his hair. Fossa grunted and moved you around so you were facing the new man. 

“ “S like moving a wet noodle,” Fossa growled, supporting your tail carefully on his forearm.

 “Izou,” the painted man said, pointing at himself. 

“Baby,” you said, pointing at your own chest. The painted man took the comb and ran it through his hair, the black strands parting with ease. He handed it to you, obviously expecting you to do the same. Maela had given you a mother-of-pearl comb when you were a child that you used to comb your hair but it had broken many years prior. Since then you’d just used your fingers when you felt that your hair was getting too matted, but it had always been low on your priority list. You tried to run the comb through your blonde hair like Izou had, but it got stuck quickly. You shrugged and tried to hand it back to him. He didn’t accept the comb, instead curling your fingers around it to show you it was yours now. You weren’t sure if he was insulting you and telling you how unkempt you were or if he was being kind and gifting you with something. You stuck it into your hair, where it was held in place by your mats, like an adornment.

“One day I’ll work those out for you,” Izou said, reaching for your head. If he patted your head like Ace did all the time, you were going to…well, not bite. You’d learned your lesson and you’d do nearly anything to avoid the muzzle again. Speaking of Ace, he was approaching you with a wistful glance at the nearly ready food on the table. 

“Baby, are you bothering Fossa?” Ace asked you, noting the comb in your hair as Izou picked up pieces of your hair for his inspection. 

“ ‘S not bothering,” Fossa said dismissively as you unwound from his body. Fossa was warm, sure, but nothing like Ace. You quickly wound yourself around his much smaller but much hotter body, pressing your face into the warmth of his shoulder and looping your arms around his neck. Sighing contentedly, you waited for Ace to walk towards the food now that other humans were sitting down at the table. 

“Should get you some clothes, huh?” Ace asked in a tone that suggested a question. You weren’t sure what he was asking but he’d show you soon enough. Ace found a chair large enough for the two of you to sit together and sat down to begin the meal.

Ace POV

Well, it turned out Sea Naga couldn’t hold their alcohol. Or maybe just Baby couldn’t. Either way, Baby was largely out of commission. The night had started innocently enough, with Pops giving a short speech welcoming Baby to the ship. Someone had put a large mug of ale in her hand which she’d sniffed apprehensively then drank as she saw the rest of the crew tipping their cups back when Pops finished speaking. Smacking her lips, Baby evidently enjoyed the taste and greedily gulped down the rest of the brew. She pushed her empty cup into Ace’s side repeatedly as he ate.

“Ace,” Baby said, ramming his ribs with the mug.

“ Ow, No,” Ace said with his mouth full of food. He wasn’t sure but it probably wasn’t a good idea to give Baby too much to drink.  Baby hissed her displeasure, crossing her arms. She’d eaten a few plates of meat but between that and the fish she’d eaten on Strike she seemed more interested in drinking.

“Aw, c’mon, let her live a little,” argued Thatch, who set another metal platter of meat in front of Ace. Ace picked his teeth with his fingernail as Baby bashed him again with her cup.

“Fine, she can have a little more. That’s it, I don’t -” Ace began as Thatch picked up a pitcher to fill Baby’s cup. She beamed at him in a wide toothy grin and snatched the pitcher from the chef, letting the cup topple to the floor. Ace watched her unhinge her jaw to drink more efficiently, allowing the pitcher to drop like the cup had previously once the container was drained. Ace was still jamming meat into his mouth but about to reprimand Baby for her foolishness when  Ace felt himself falling asleep. He set his arms on the table like Marco had shown him to do and laid his head down. The last thing he remembered seeing was Baby poking his cheek, a soft hiss escaping her worried face.

Ace awoke some time later with a wool blanket draped over his shoulders, as he always did after a fit of narcolepsy on the ship. Blinking his eyes open, he shoved the food from his plate into his mouth reflexively, almost unaware he was eating. No one else was still dining, most were either drinking and talking in small groups or had moved to the main deck for the same activity. He heard a commotion from over on the main deck and meandered over to see what was happening. There was a ring of crew encircling some fight - Ace could tell it was friendly from the lack of jeers and blood spatters on the floor. As one of the shortest members on board, Ace had to push his way to the front to see who was fighting. He often participated himself, enjoying the challenge of wrestling without his Devil Fruit abilities.

“GIT ‘ER BORS!” yelled out Curiel as Ace saw Baby in the middle of the ring, wrestling with the aforementioned Bors. She had a loop of her tail around Bors' ankle as he loomed over her with a bow staff. Ace was infuriated and was about to intervene when Baby’s tail wrapped all the way around the significantly larger man's torso in one fluid movement, trapping his arms under her tail. She grabbed the staff from the man’s hand like she was taking it from a child and threw it skittering across the deck.

“Fuckin’ can’t! She’s godfuckingdamnit so slippery and…tails stronger than ow whatthefuck it looks,” yelled back the crewman from the 10th division as he started turning red in the face. Baby smiled as she wound her tail tighter and tighter, constricting his breathing until the man was turning blue. 

“I’m not healing you if she cracks your ribs!” Marco yelled from his perch near Pops. Marco often didn't heal those who willingly fought each other using his Devil Fruit, saying it was their due for engaging in foolishness. 

Baby had her torso on the ground and was tapping her claws against the deck in a show of boredom as Bors tapped his hand against her to tap out. As soon as he conceded, Baby immediately unwound herself and Bors landed hard on hands and knees, heaving in rough breaths. Baby whooped and cheered for her victory along with the assembled crew.

“Winner! Unbeaten so far, who can take on the mighty Baby? Tenth division is out, eleventh division now! Kingdew, who're you sending?” boomed out Fossa, collecting money from grumbling crew members who'd lost their bets against Baby.

“No one, she’s done,” yelled Ace, pushing himself into the circle, taking large strides towards Baby. He was loudly booed by the assembled crowd which was quickly mimicked by Baby.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the Captain. And stop swearing around her!” Ace yelled at the crowd as he approached the still booing Baby. 

“She was doin’ fuckin’ great,” Fossa said, handing Ace the Berri he’d collected from her bets. Ace put the massive amounts of paper in his pockets as Fossa pushed Ace's chest with a giant finger. “Those are her winnings , Runt. Let ‘er buy what she wants with ‘em,” he said, reaching to pat Baby on the head. She pretended to snap her fangs at him but was clearly playing. “All right ye bums, fight’s over with Baby, but plenty more to come! Over yonder!” Fossa boomed towards the assembled crew. “Good job, kid,” Fossa said to Baby, tugging her long ear gently, earning him a lick of her tongue against his hand. Ace felt a twinge of jealousy curl in his gut as the familiarity between his Sea Naga and the crew grew. Shaking it off, Ace focused on the teetering Baby, who was looking for more beer amongst the empty barrels. As Ace approached Baby, she swayed slightly on her tail as she smiled at him and thumped the tip of her tail loudly against the deck.

“Fight,” she said happily, throwing her arms in the air. 

“Yeah, fight,” Ace replied, picking her up at the thickest part of her tail and torso. She let herself fall into his arms, almost like she was boneless. She was cold and smelled like ale and spirits, Ace wondered how much she’d drank while he was passed out. Quite a bit if he based it on her floppy limbs and current hurried speech. She was speaking rapidly in Naga, Ace wished he could understand what she was saying. Based on her hand motions, she was recounting her fights against the crew mixed with a few mentions of his own name. He’d never heard her say so much in one go before and found the sibilant sounds of her serpent language to be quite pleasant. He wanted to encourage her to speak in her own language more often; it was beautiful in a haunting way, like the sounds of the wind whipping through a sea grotto.

“Winner,” she said proudly, her fingers clenched into a fist. Ace’s heart swelled with pride as if he'd taught her to fight himself. 

“Good job, Baby,” he said, kissing the top of her head as he walked to take her to bed. He didn’t want her fighting the crew but he was glad she was able to hold her own in case of a skirmish. He should give her some lessons, he mused, to make her an even stronger fighter. He couldn't imagine she'd often fought opponents at her level, probably just killed for food. Ace had taught Sabo and Luffy, surely he could handle teaching Baby. He’d work with her on ground fighting and ask Namur for help teaching her more down below the sea. It was a good idea, but not for tonight. Right now Baby was in the woozy part of drinking too much, still babbling happily to him. Entering the ship, Baby thumped the paddled end of her tail against the wall as he walked towards his cabin, the staccato beats matching the falls of his footsteps on the wood floors. 

Baby was almost completely reclined in Ace’s arms when he opened his door with his foot. She picked up her head and swiveled it slowly towards Ace, her furrowed brow and flicking tongue indicating her unfamiliarity with her surroundings. Ace wished his room was tidier but between the construction and the...general disarray his room was always in, it was pretty messy. There wasn't much in the room besides Ace's bed and his completely paper-covered desk and now Baby's crate. Baby flicked her tongue with increasing speed, wiggling out of Ace’s arms and plopping without grace onto the floor. Baby slithered hesitantly towards the crate, tongue lashing out every few seconds. She touched the bars of the crate, turning towards Ace with wide eyes. It was larger than Stefan's crate but the idea behind it was the same. It was constructed of wood with metal bars on the sides and it was large enough for Baby to curl up in. Ace had placed the furs and bones he'd taken from her cave inside as a surprise to acclimate her to the cage. 

“Assse, no,” she whispered, pulling on the bars of the crate, her drunkenness extending the consonants of his name. Ace looked at her face as her smile faded, looking more like the Naga he’d found earlier that day in the brig. She reached inside with the tip of her tail, pulling out one of the furs that Ace had brought for her. Putting it around her shoulders and fastening it with a bone clip he’d brought as well, Baby turned towards Ace.

“No, Assse,” she asked again, her ears pointing down in defeat and lip wobbling in stark contrast to her winning attitude just moments before.  Ace sighed, and closed his eyes. He was so tired, he’d worked hard all day long, he didn’t have energy for another confrontation with Baby. 

“Fine, you don’t have to sleep there tonight. You’re wasted anyway, I kinda wanna keep an eye on you,” Ace said with a yawn. He kicked off his boots into the corner of his messy room, he didn’t have much more gas in his tank. Crawling into his bed, he patted the spare space next to him and said “Baby, come here.” Baby immediately brightened up and slithered to Ace’s bed. She took off her fur and wound her body all around Ace’s much like the first time they slept next to one another. She pressed her chest to Ace’s side and placed her head on his chest. Ace inhaled a deep breath and held it in exhaling into Baby’s tangled hair. Hopefully Marco didn’t find out Baby wasn’t in the crate - but how would he? Ace’s thoughts drifted as he felt Baby’s breath even out, her little tongue accidentally flicking his nipple. 

Your POV

What. the. Fuck.

But really, what the fuck was wrong with humans? They invented a great beverage that tasted delightful and made you feel wonderful but the next morning it felt like an animal was living inside your head and died in your mouth. Your head was pounding with the worst headache you’d ever felt, your mouth was dry and you felt like regurgitating like when you’d eaten something too big whole. Thrashing around, you found Ace wasn’t there but had covered you with one of your old furs and some of his blankets. You did like his scent but you missed the warmth his body provided. 

Rolling yourself onto the floor, you slowly slithered away from the bed and to the bathroom. After relieving yourself, you gulped down some water with your hands. Leaving the bathroom, you twisted the knob to the main hallway, you found it open thankfully. You slithered so low to the ground you might as well have been a real snake but you didn’t have the energy to pick yourself any further off the floor. Everything was too loud, too bright, and too fragrant for you to attempt to be upright.

You smelled cooking food and headed that way. Either someone would feed you, you’d find Ace, or the Harpy would put you out of your misery - anything was fine by you right now. Entering the room with the food, you scanned for Ace. He was rapidly shoveling yellow and white blobs into his mouth but waved when he saw you. They smelled great and he started preparing you a plate of blobs from a platter while you were approaching.

“Hi Baby!” he chirped as you sat next to him. You thought about stabbing him with the knife but decided against it. He hadn’t invented the beverage, it wasn’t his fault you drank so much.

“Fuck,” you replied, leaning your head on your hand. The table went silent as Ace narrowed his eyes.

“What did you say?” he asked quietly.

“FUCK,” you repeated loudly, rubbing your face with your hand in annoyance. You were in no mood for silly communication games. 

“GOD DAMMIT GUYS! WHO TAUGHT HER TO SAY FUCK!?” Ace yelled at the laughing humans sitting nearby. Ace was about to yell again but you took your hand and put it over his mouth. You couldn’t listen to another loud sound or you were going to explode. 

“Fuck,” you said, pointing to him. “Fuck,” you said, pointing to Fossa and Namur. Fossa gave a pleased grunt while Namur extended his thumb upwards. “Fuck,” you said, pointing to Curiel, who laughed as he ate. You repeated the phrase and pointed to everyone at the table except for Izou, all decidedly happy at your use of the word. “Fuck,” you said with finality, eating the blobs off your plate while Ace pouted with his arms crossed.

Oh, they were warm, cooked eggs! The chef was a complete genius, you’d had eggs you’d taken from bird’s nests before but never thought to cook them. You’d have to give him another fish for this incredible creation. Like Ace, you started shoveling them into your mouth as fast as you could as he poured you a hot beverage in a ceramic mug adorned with the Leader’s symbol. 

“Try this. It’s coffee. Might help your hangover,” Ace grumbled at you, displeased by your new favorite word. You tasted the bitter liquid, unsure if it would cause you harm or not. It wasn’t as good as the one from the night before but you drank it anyway. It tasted earthy and gave your belly a pleasant feeling of warmth as you continued to eat with your hands. Ace handed you a piece of pronged metal like the one he held in his own hand. Confused, you took it but set it down on the table. You didn’t need it - couldn’t he see you had claws?  You kept eating and Ace didn’t bother you again about it though he watched you curiously. 

When you’d finished eating and drinking the coffee and a few cups of water, you felt a little better. Ace waited for you while you finished and you followed him up to the top deck of the ship. Everyone was bustling around, doing whatever it was that humans did for work. Flicking your tongue out, you detected the smell of the Harpy. He was nearby but not close enough for you to see. Ace was talking to a group of humans, exchanging papers with them. Watching the humans like you would observe wild animals in their natural habitat, Ace looked up and caught your eye, speaking to you while holding a bunch of papers in his hands.

“Ok, Baby. I gotta go. You can hang out here or go find Namur? I’m not sure where he is right now  -”

“Ace, you need to look at this before we -” other humans cut off Ace, garnering his attention once more. You figured he was busy doing whatever it was that he did, and slithered off to go rest in the sun. It was warmer than it had been previous days and you felt like complete shit so you felt entitled to sit and do nothing. Though, now that you thought about it, there wasn’t really much for you to do on the ship. On your island you’d been preoccupied with your survival, spending most of your time hunting, tanning hides, gathering wood, things like that. When you did have time, you liked to swim for fun or look for shells and interesting objects on the beach. Here, all of those things were done for you. You dind’t have to hunt or gather fuel and there was no beach to comb through. Sure, you could swim and hunt for fish but you weren’t sure what the parameters around that were. You'd figure out a way to ask Ace later about swimming and catching fish.

Deciding that was a problem for you in the future, you slithered to the large Captain of the ship, who was drowsing in his chair. For someone as large as the Captain, he didn’t seem to move too much. He had strings going to his nose and arm as he rested in the morning sun. Smaller humans wearing pink were attending to him. Looking them over, you supposed they were female humans, since they contrasted so heavily with the hairier humans you’d already seen. They looked similar to you in some ways, though their mammary glands were far more pronounced than yours were currently. They had long hair in various colors, though none as light as your own. They chattered between them, giving you cursory glances but not bothering you as you greeted the Captain with a hiss.

Climbing up his arms, he opened an eye as you crawled up his large body but didn't object outright. Settling down across his shoulders like you had before, you listened to the sounds of his breathing as the ship sailed along in the good weather. You closed your eyes, stretched out in a vulnerable position, content to let the Captain’s presence deter any potential danger while you slept. Slumber was upon you when you heard an unpleasant voice.

“Oh, she’s already here. Good, I was hoping to extract her venom today yoi. Let me -” you didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as you snapped like a rubber band into a defensive position and slithered down the far side of the Captain’s chair. You wanted to avoid conflict with the Harpy if at all possible rather than confront him directly. The Captain rumbled some kind of response but you were already on the railing of the ship, preparing to jump off. If you had to swim behind the ship for hours, so be it, you’d take that over being near the Harpy any day.

“Not so fast,” you heard the Harpy say as you lept, already in the air. The Harpy caught you in his talons mid-jump to your shock. It reminded you of the flight he’d taken you on when he’d kidnapped you from your island. You curled around his legs, trying to crack his bones but for some reason the Harpy was immune to your attacks. “Stop that,” he admonished you, as he dropped you back on the deck. You were panicked, you didn’t know what to do but felt the need to escape. You didn’t want to bite him - that was a sure way to get the muzzle back on - but he clearly wanted you for something and you didn’t want to find out what that was.

The Harpy brought out a covered jar from his pocket, showing it to you. You eyed it suspiciously, unsure what its purpose was. He then fished out a dried hank of meat from his sash and held it in front of himself, as if to give it to you.

“Come, you can have this. Yes, this is for you yoi. Come,” the Harpy repeated the command, wanting you to move towards him. Wary of his intentions, you ignored what he said and tried to make another escape. You weren't going to be fooled by his bait and switch trap like a simple minded animal.

“This can be done easily if you cooperate. Or not, if you prefer it that way,” the Harpy said, sighing. You were already turning back to the railing as he cornered you against the wall of the boat. Faster than you were able to detect with your eyes, he had you in a headlock with one arm, the other pushing on the underside of your mandible, a large taloned leg pinning a portion of your tail to the deck. The pressure he was putting on your jaw forced you to open your mouth and extend your fangs against your will. Once your fangs were extended, he pushed one through the cap of the jar and continued pressing against the soft underside of your jaw, causing your bite reflex to activate. You tried hissing your anger but the positioning of your mouth made it impossible. He exerted so much pressure in such an exact spot, his course of action must have been premeditated.

You thrashed your tail as hard as you could, attacking his arms with your claws, even trying to go limp to wriggle away but nothing worked. You found he was also made of flames, but not like Ace whose flames were made of fire. The Harpy’s flames protected him from anything you did, making your actions futile. Though it couldn’t have been more than a minute, your acute humiliation felt like it went on for eternity. You didn’t know why he had to do this now , in front of the Captain, in order to humiliate you. You guessed that he was being prevented from eating you and wanted to take his revenge but you didn’t have a clear understanding. Last night as you’d wrestled the other humans it almost made you feel like you belonged with them but the Harpy was quick to remind you that you were a captive, a nothing. 

Finally, the Harpy finished collecting your venom and pulled the jar off your fang, tilting the jar to inspect the contents. He didn’t release you though, he kept you in place as he put the jar back in his pocket.

“I don’t see Ace and you can’t roam around by yourself on the deck, it’s not safe. Maybe one day, but not today. Come,” he said to you, giving you the same hand motion as Stefan. You had no choice but to follow him as he lead you back towards Ace’s room. He was stronger, faster, and in a position of power on the ship over you. There was no point in trying to argue with him like you did Ace since the Harpy was undeterred in his actions no matter how you reacted. 

You kept your head down as you followed to Ace’s room, the scent of Ace combined with your furs and bones increasing with every slither you made towards the room. Once inside, the Harpy opened the door to the cage and motioned for you to enter. You slithered inside, curling up so all of you could fit within. He shut the locked door to the cage and crouched down to observe you inside. You turned your head away, not wanting to see the victory likely present in his eyes. He placed the hank of meat between the bars near your tail and stood up to leave. He closed the door to the room as he left, your freedom no closer than it had been the day before.

taglist: @mfreedomstuff

[pixeltwix]

⚠️Emma May & Ciphertology⚠️

-Backpacking off of my theory from yesterday!! Very long text post incoming-

I’m of the mind where not only do I believe Emma May’s family was in a cult, but that they continued to practice its teachings after being disbanded. From here this is just my own personal ramblings as I have a very long and personal take on Emma May and Fiddleford’s lives and history as a whole and separately. Today will be dedicated to Em’s side (ft her families designs as well :3 )

Emma May’s father, Dale Dixon, is the older brother of Madeline Dixon- the teenage girl who was one of the first to be swayed by this Silas Birchtree. It’s implied she fell for him in place of her boyfriend at the time, but I choose to believe this was a lingering affection she’d keep for life in her worship.

Being a young man at the birth, peak, and end of Ciphertology already with a wife and children, Dale was too closely wooed by the teachings of Silas and the inter-dimensional being that was Bill Cipher. He was a bit of a cult kiss ass, if you will. He’d be the first to do whatever Silas would suggest or order of the cults people and the man was happy to do it. Be it shaving his head and painting on an eye or attempting to build the portal he had zero qualifications for alongside everyone else.

Naturally after the cult was disbanded and everyone was put into witness protection, while Dale accepted the state relocation for his family (to Virginia) he refused any government aid beyond that. Instead dragging his young family and sister into the woods where he constructed a shabby little home for them. A home where no one would contradict his word and he could continue the teachings of Ciphertology.

Emma May was born only a few short years later. And while her father had already named one of her older brothers as a namesake to his idol, Silas, her mother named her in turn for her secret idol, Emmaline Butternubbins. She knew Dale would never accept the original name, so she did what she could to compromise- it was a cope of sorts. Thelma Lou, Em’s mother, unfortunately has no say in her husbands madness and is slowly being broken down to the cult. While she had some resistance when Em was born it wouldn’t last too terribly long as soon every adult figure in the family believed in Ciphertology.

Growing up in the middle of nowhere Appalachia’s, Emma May didn’t have much outside influence other than the mini cult community her father had created over the years within neighboring people. She knew no different than the madness and basic cult ideas of ‘have as many kids and wives as you want just so we can create more followers’ sort of mindset. The only hiccup was that Emma May was never dumb, she wasn’t so easily swayed by the triangles teachings, she always internally questioned everything- no matter what adult was telling her things she always was left with a feeling of ‘is that really true though?’

She kept such thoughts to herself, assuming she wouldn’t have to actually do anything notable within the cult, she was shocked and horrified when at the age of 15 her father was bringing her before an older man to marry. An older man who already had a handful of wives. She knew even if she was older she wouldn’t want this life, seeing upfront her mothers decay in the cult and the mass of siblings that she had..she didn’t want that. She wanted an education, basic rights, and just? Freedom from this. She didn’t know if the outside world would be different, but at that point she didn’t much care. She wanted out and she needed out fast.

Running away from home before the official marriage ceremony she remains on the run until she makes it to Fredericksburg, VA. A bustling friendly town that otherwise left her feeling like she was in an alien world. She looked straight out of the early 1900s in a wave of hip and groovy late 1960’s styles. While she couldn’t read anymore than simple words she skimmed through the phone book of a nearby cafe, and while unable to find any Dixon outside of her indoctrinated family she found hope in searching for names under her mothers maiden name, ‘Finch’. 

Discovering a man in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey, by the name of Benjamin Finch she manages to find her mothers estranged brother. A man her mother was forced to shun and block out the second he expressed concern over her involvement in a cult. Thankfully upon learning who she was he was more than happy to shelter her, albeit he only lived in a trailer as he practically lived in the museum he worked at. Making her way up the East coast, Emma May finds herself in Jersey, her uncle slowly acclimating her to modern life. Teaching her how to read, to write, and most importantly teaching her the reality of the world. Luckily he wasn’t a religious man of any sorts and rooted her in modern thoughts of science, feminism, and other new age ideas of the time.

Once he felt she was ready he let her attend Glass Shard High, getting the education she always wanted despite struggling to understand the basics. This didn’t get her down though as she was determined to graduate someday. Instead she tracks down local nerd and idea enthusiast, Stanford Pines, someone she hardly finds to be ‘a freak’ considering her cultish upbringing was beyond bizarre (plus she learned from an early age to find beauty in the ‘odd’ or ‘weird’) Befriending a young Ford and learning from him she also befriends Stan, someone who was more than willing to help her break out of her docile and dainty shell. Stan’s girlfriend at the time, Carla McCorkle was equally happy to teach her the modern idea of feminine rather than beaten to death old book concepts. Living in Jersey, in short, was slowly thawing her from the confines of her upbringing- developing into the life she always wanted and frankly? She was thriving!

She was also gaining her own beliefs in this time. Such as ‘marriage is stupid’ and ‘having kids is stupid, I’m never going to have them’ sort of mindset. Thanks to her upbringing she swore then and there that she would never have a family of her own. So, that’s what makes her next phase of life particularly ironic.

After the science project incident in senior year between the Pines brothers the friend circle would face a brutal falling out, the only one keeping in touch with everyone being Emma May herself. Stan is kicked out and the brothers aren’t talking, Carla breaks up with Stan and refuses any more connection to the Pines, and Em is left in limbo to comfort and appease everyone whilst ignoring her own feelings about it all. Between the late night girl talks with Carla, keeping Ford off the edge, and letting Stan stay with her in the trailer it was only a matter of time before her juggling attempts would fall.

And that’s exactly what happened- after Ford discovers she’s been harboring Stan he can’t help the rush of anger, insecurity, and betrayal that someone he considered his only friend left to hide that from him. Also afraid of losing a friend who’s done so much for her in her cult unlearning she’s quick to prove her loyalty. Packing her bags after graduation she joins Ford to Backupsmore to continue supporting him, taking up a diner job beside campus and shacking up in a cheap apartment. She continues secretly offering Stan money when she can as she still feels guilt for her decision, but it becomes less frequent as she’s now supporting herself financially on her own.

But of course her sole company of Ford wouldn’t last forever. Especially when all she tends to hear from him is how cool his roommate is and how’s he’s thrilled to be around another intellectual mind for once. And while he was hesitant to introduce his two friends to one another it was quick history after that-

Em absolutely deals with a lot of survivors guilt and general fear (lots of ‘I can’t believe I left my younger siblings behind, what if thEY were forced to marry that man in my place?!’ and ‘what if the cult tracks me down and forces me back home?!’) and on top of that I already feel she’s got some religious based ptsd and some bpd in there as well, but I think that would make her more endeared to Fiddleford when they first meet. A man who was pretty open about his own anxiety and ocd (idk if that’s a popular hc, but him having ocd makes so much sense to me) definitely helped her understand herself better and the two of them absolutely developed ways to help one another with it. They become each other’s safe spaces essentially <3

I feel like all of this is something I could talk about for hOURS, but I feel I’ve already typed up enough for today. So take this all as you will :) it’s just been super fun rewriting the story I had for her. I always envisioned her to be a teen runaway and living with her estranged uncle in Jersey, but now it makes even more sense plugging in my cult theory. But anywho, I hope this was an enjoyable for y’all to read as it was for me to type

[gracemain919]

(Not sure if you will answer this, but I’m going to ask anyway sorry if it’s long :P)

I can only imagine the STRESS having to do with seven (eight if you count “the mother”) fungus infected Yandere’s (+a whole military complex) so here’s my question:

How will they react to Y/N having a mental breakdown?

(sorry if angs)

(Thanks for the ask:), and yeah. The problem with having a decent amount of characters is that I have so many things to write/draw about them, but don't know what would and will be liked/needed. Also hoped I captured a good enough vision of a mental breakdown. Don't know if that is what you wanted;-;)

(The Fungus universe)

Tw: Yandere, manipulation, slight abuse.

Oh dear… it was anticipated you would suffer a lot of pressure and fear being randomly rocked from your old life to this one. Tears tainting your once joyful face while you lock yourself away from any prying eyes, and taking out your anger on any who dared to try and enter.

How the leaders react:

The Liar: Expected. You are only human after all. Humans crack under the slightest change, unlike his own kind. Still with you gone… No. He can't let you screw over his plans. If you want sympathy, then you won't get it.

You can't cry forever, and to be honest he doesn't care enough to take action. Sure, hide away from your problems. See if he does something about it, dear.

Still, if he really had to fix it, it would only take a simple lie. Nothing more.

Poison: Hmm… That was quicker than expected. Some people can endure the pressure for longer periods of time. That’s too bad. Poison will try to get to the source of the problem. Through the closed door, providing more drug-like, artificial solutions than actual support. Since she knows the only thing that would truly bring you joy is your freedom, and well… she can't give you that.

The Cannibal: Oh, oh, oh. Fuck did he cause that? No, no. How did he- How…?!

Imagine a buffering browser, that is him at that moment.

He really does not know what to do or what to say to make you feel better;-;

Doppelganger: What? Really? You hiding away in tears? Good god, always knows how to push his buttons in the middle of practice.

“Dear, open the door, please… I promise I can help you”

Can he help you? He is pretty sure he can, even if the ‘how’ of the matter is quite blurry. He will try to persuade you with pretty words and promises, but if those don't work… well… haha. That door might need to be broken off.

Illusionist: Why are you hiding? Did… did they do something wrong? They did… but it was for the betterment of everyone. You gotta trust them. Please…

You might hear muffled pleas from the other side of the door as the humanoid insect tries to get you to come out. Cries that closely resemble a child begging for their parent.

“Please, do you feel lonely? We won't ever leave your side again we promise! Do you need to see something cute? We will give you cats, please! Come. Out!”

That’s the most they will do… well until they decide the Doppelganger might be a good person to help them out.

The Eye in the Sky: What? He is too busy for that, god. Fine.

It might feel like an insult when you hear a worker coming to your aid instead of the man himself. He’s busy god dammit. He doesn't have time for your temper tantrum.

The Priest: Oh that happened? That's truly awful… Don’t worry he will help.

Standing behind the door he will simply wait.

“Don't worry, dear. I understand this might seem like the end of the world. Take the time you need. I will be waiting until you decide to come out”

He is a patient man. He can wait for as long as you need, and if you decide to leave he will be more than happy to hold you in a loving embrace.

His wife on the other hand… will smile and nod, but her aching fingers can't help but visualize the pretty idea of tearing that damn door off. Why would anyone want to hide from them? Preposterous! They are sweet as angels.

[goldfades]

baby time. | JOE BURROW⁹ [007]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your son's birth!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | mentions of birth (who would have thought!?), not too descriptive, joe being the sweetest baby daddy EVERRR, maisie being the coolest aunt, mentions of water-breaking, descriptions of contractions, idk what else but... it's pretty soft!

APRIL 9TH, 2022

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. The kind where the quiet hum of the fan filled the room and the soft rhythm of Joe’s breathing set a peaceful background to your restless tossing and turning. Pregnancy sleep was its own brand of chaos—you were hot, then cold, then uncomfortable, then starving. The baby wasn’t even here yet, and they already had your schedule on a tight leash.

Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor a small relief against your aching feet. The bedside clock glowed faintly: 3:27 a.m.

Joe stirred beside you, murmuring something incoherent before settling back into his usual sprawl. He looked so peaceful, one arm flung over his head, the other draped protectively over the empty side of the bed you’d just vacated.

You shuffled toward the bathroom, rubbing a hand over your belly as if to soothe the little one nestled there. "Let’s not make this a nightly thing, okay?" you muttered. The baby gave a single, emphatic kick in response.

Just as you reached for the bathroom door, it happened—a warm gush that stopped you in your tracks.

For a split second, you froze, your sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Did I…? No, it couldn’t be. But the dampness spreading down your legs told a very different story.

“Oh, no,” you whispered, wide-eyed.

Your water had broken.

The realization hit like a bolt of lightning, and panic surged through your veins. You weren’t ready. The baby wasn’t ready. Nothing was ready.

“Joe,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood there, utterly frozen. Then louder, more urgent: “Joe!”

He shot up immediately, eyes wild with the disorientation of someone ripped from deep sleep. “What? What’s wrong?” His voice was thick, his hair sticking up in every direction.

“My water,” you stammered, gesturing vaguely to the puddle on the floor. “It broke. It’s happening. The baby’s coming. Right now.”

Joe blinked at you, his brain clearly lagging behind your words. Then his eyes darted down, taking in the scene.

“Oh, shit,” he said, throwing the covers off and leaping out of bed. “Okay, okay. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you said, though your trembling hands and rapid-fire breathing told a very different story. “I’m just… processing.”

“Processing is good,” Joe said, nodding like a man trying very hard not to freak out himself. “Processing is great. Let’s… uh, let’s get to the hospital.”

He darted to the closet, yanking out a duffle bag you’d packed weeks ago. Thank God for Maisie, who had insisted on the just-in-case preparations.

“Where are your shoes?” he asked, rummaging through the closet like it was a black hole.

“I don’t know!” you wailed, clutching the dresser for support as another wave of panic rolled through you. “Joe, I can’t do this. It’s too early. What if something’s wrong? What if—”

“Hey, hey,” he said, dropping the bag and crossing the room in two long strides. He cupped your face in his hands, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “You can do this. We can do this. Everything’s going to be fine.”

His voice was calm, steady, and just grounding enough to slow the whirlwind in your head. You nodded, taking a shaky breath.

“Good,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Now, let’s get you out of these wet clothes, okay?”

A flurry of activity followed—Joe helping you into fresh leggings and one of his sweatshirts, both of you scrambling to gather last-minute items. The whole time, you couldn’t stop glancing at the clock. Was this really happening? Right now?

By the time you made it to the car, Joe had shifted into full quarterback mode, his focus laser-sharp as he buckled you in and started the engine.

“You good?” he asked, glancing over at you as he pulled out of the driveway.

You nodded, clutching your belly as the first faint contraction rippled through you. “I think so.”

The drive to the hospital felt both endless and impossibly fast. Joe kept glancing at you, his hand gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You okay?” he asked every few minutes.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered as the contractions grew stronger. “Just keep driving.”

When you finally pulled up to the hospital, everything blurred into a chaotic rush—nurses, wheelchairs, bright lights, and a flurry of paperwork that Joe handled while you focused on breathing through the increasingly intense waves of pain.

“This is it,” he said softly as the nurse wheeled you toward a delivery room, his hand warm and steady on your shoulder. “We’re going to meet our baby.”

And just like that, the panic ebbed, replaced by a strange, calm anticipation. Because no matter how unprepared you felt, you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t doing this alone. Joe was there, and you were a team.

The hospital room was a blur of sterile white and cold tile floors, softened only slightly by the hum of machines monitoring your every breath and beat. You hadn’t even been in the room for an hour, but it already felt like days. The contractions were still mild, coming in waves that tightened your belly and sent a ripple of discomfort through your lower back.

Joe stood by the window, his phone pressed to his ear, his face tight with concentration. The fluorescent light overhead cast sharp angles on his features, making the exhaustion in his eyes more pronounced. He ran a hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time, a nervous tic that betrayed the calm front he was trying to keep up.

“Yeah, Mom,” he said, his voice low but insistent. “Her water broke a couple hours ago. We’re at the hospital now.”

You could hear Robin’s voice on the other end, shrill with concern even though she was hours away in Athens. Joe flinched slightly, pulling the phone an inch from his ear as he glanced back at you.

“She’s okay,” he assured her, though his eyes flicked nervously toward the monitors beeping steadily by your bedside. “It’s early, but the doctors aren’t worried. They said everything looks good so far.”

You shifted on the bed, trying to find a position that didn’t make your hips feel like they were being pried apart. Easier said than done. Joe noticed immediately, his brow furrowing as he mouthed, You good?

You nodded, even though you weren’t entirely sure it was true.

“Mom, I gotta go,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I’ll keep you updated, okay? Love you. Bye.”

He hung up and exhaled sharply, dragging a chair closer to your bedside and sinking into it. His hand found yours automatically, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a steady rhythm.

“My parents are driving up right now,” he said, managing a small, wry smile. “Mom’s freaking out, of course. Told me to tell you she loves you and to hang in there.”

You smiled faintly, though your heart clenched a little at the thought of your parents, who were currently halfway across the country on a long-awaited vacation. Timing really was everything.

“They’re gonna feel so guilty about missing this,” you murmured, wincing as another contraction started to build.

Joe squeezed your hand. “They’ll be here soon enough. And Maisie’s on her way—she’ll probably get here before I even figure out how to fold that damn swaddle blanket.”

That managed to pull a weak laugh out of you, even as the contraction peaked, forcing you to close your eyes and breathe through the sharp wave of pain. Joe immediately sat up straighter, his free hand hovering uncertainly over your leg like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said through gritted teeth. “That one was just… a little stronger.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Should I call the nurse?”

You shook your head, exhaling shakily as the contraction ebbed. “Not yet. They said this could take a while.”

Joe’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked like he wanted to argue, but the sound of the door opening cut him off. A nurse bustled in, her smile professional and calm as she checked your vitals and updated the monitor.

“Everything’s looking good,” she said brightly, glancing between you and Joe. “First babies can take their time, though, so try to relax as much as you can. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you again.”

Relax. Right.

The door had barely swung shut behind her when Joe’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. He snatched it up, glancing at the screen. “Maisie’s downstairs. I’ll go grab her, okay?”

You nodded, watching him go with a mix of relief and unease. As much as you appreciated his constant presence, the nervous energy radiating off him was almost suffocating. Maybe Maisie would help diffuse some of the tension.

Maisie arrived like a whirlwind, her hair pulled into a messy bun and a to-go coffee cup in one hand.

“Oh my God,” she said, rushing to your side. “You look… okay, actually. Better than I thought you’d look after your water broke in the middle of the night.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward despite the ache in your back.

Joe reappeared behind her, carrying a paper bag you could only assume was filled with the snacks Maisie insisted on bringing every time you so much as sneezed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, plopping into the chair Joe had vacated and immediately taking over the hand-holding duties. “Is it bad yet?”

“It’s… manageable,” you said, though another contraction building in the distance made you wonder how long that would last.

Joe stood by the window again, arms crossed as he stared out at the dark parking lot below. Maisie glanced at him, then back at you, lowering her voice.

“How’s he doing?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.

You sighed. “He’s trying. But you know Joe—he doesn’t like not being in control. And this… well, this is definitely not something he can control.”

Maisie nodded knowingly, squeezing your hand. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. To distract him and annoy him until he forgets how stressed he is.”

You laughed softly, but the sound was cut off by the sharp onset of another contraction. Maisie’s grip on your hand tightened, her expression shifting to one of fierce determination.

“Breathe through it,” she coached, her voice calm and steady. “You’ve got this.”

Joe turned from the window, his eyes darting to you as if he could feel the shift in the room.

“Another one?” he asked, stepping closer.

You nodded, focusing on the slow, measured breaths Maisie was guiding you through. When it finally passed, you leaned back against the pillows, utterly drained.

Joe brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his touch gentle. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You managed a tired smile. “I’m just trying to survive the night.”

Joe glanced at Maisie, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. For once, they seemed to be on the same team, united in their shared mission to get you through this.

And as the clock ticked past four in the morning, you realized just how long this night was going to be.

┈┈┈

Time in the labor room felt elastic, stretching and warping with every contraction that rolled over you like a storm. By now, the initial nerves had morphed into something heavier, grittier, as the reality of what lay ahead began to sink in. The monitor beside you beeped steadily, a metronome marking time in an endless loop as the contractions grew stronger and closer together.

Joe hadn’t sat down in what felt like hours. He hovered near your bedside, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking like he was ready to throw a block or tackle someone if it would make this easier for you. His hand was a near-permanent fixture in yours, and though he winced every time you squeezed too hard, he never once pulled away.

The nurse entered again, her calm professionalism a steadying presence in the chaos. “How are we doing?” she asked, pulling on gloves as she approached.

“How does it look like we’re doing?” you managed, the bite in your voice softened by the sheer exhaustion that clung to every word.

Joe rubbed soothing circles into your back with his free hand. “She’s hanging in there,” he answered for you, though his voice was tight with worry.

The nurse smiled, unbothered. “Let’s see where we’re at.” She glanced at the monitor, then moved to check your progress. “You’re about six centimeters now. Things are definitely moving along, but we’ve still got a little ways to go.”

Six centimeters. You wanted to cry, both because of how far you’d come and how much farther you still had to go.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Joe asked, his tone almost desperate.

The nurse tilted her head thoughtfully. “Walking can help speed things up, if she’s up for it. Otherwise, we’ll just keep monitoring and let nature take its course.”

Walking sounded like the most impossible thing in the world, but the thought of lying in this bed for several more hours wasn’t much better. You nodded weakly.

Joe sprang into action, gently untangling your hand from his to help you sit up. The shift in position sent a sharp wave of discomfort through your lower back, and you sucked in a breath.

“Easy,” he murmured, his hands firm but careful as he steadied you. “Take your time.”

Maisie appeared at the foot of the bed, her expression a mix of concern and determination. “You’re a warrior, babe. Let’s do this.”

With their help, you managed to swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, though your knees wobbled like a newborn fawn’s. Joe wrapped an arm securely around your waist, holding most of your weight as you shuffled toward the door.

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit in the eerie way only hospitals managed, and you could feel the curious stares of passing nurses and doctors. Every few steps, a contraction would stop you in your tracks, forcing you to cling to Joe as you breathed through the pain.

“You’re doing so good,” he said softly, his lips brushing your temple.

You didn’t have the energy to respond, but you leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence.

By the time you made it back to the room, the contractions were coming hard and fast, leaving little room to breathe between them. You collapsed onto the bed with a groan, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the nurse reappeared to check on you again.

“You’re at eight centimeters,” she announced, giving you an encouraging smile. “We’re getting closer.”

“Closer,” you echoed faintly, as though the word had lost all meaning.

Joe crouched beside you, his hand brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “You’re almost there, babe. Just a little longer.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, though there was no heat behind the words.

Maisie snorted from her seat in the corner. “He’d probably pass out if he had to do half of what you’re doing.”

“Not helping, Maisie,” Joe said, though his lips twitched upward for the briefest moment.

The tension in the room ebbed slightly, replaced by a flicker of warmth. But it didn’t last long. Another contraction ripped through you, stealing the air from your lungs and making you cry out. Joe immediately shifted closer, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice steady even as his eyes filled with helplessness. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

You tried to focus on his voice, on the grounding sensation of his hand in yours, but the pain was relentless, all-consuming. By the time the contraction finally subsided, you were trembling, tears streaming silently down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joe’s grip on your hand tightened. “Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve got this.”

Maisie appeared at your other side, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “He’s right. You’ve already done the impossible—this is just the final push, literally.”

You managed a weak laugh through your tears, though it quickly dissolved into a sob as another contraction loomed on the horizon.

Joe leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re gonna meet our baby soon,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Just hold on a little longer.”

And so you did. With every ounce of strength you had left, you held on, clinging to Joe’s steady presence as the hours stretched on. Time lost all meaning, the only markers the intensifying contractions and the quiet reassurances of the nurses who moved in and out of the room like clockwork.

By the time the nurse announced you were fully dilated and ready to push, exhaustion weighed heavy on you, but there was a spark of determination in your chest.

Joe’s hand never left yours, his voice never wavered. And as you braced yourself for the final stretch, you knew that no matter how long or painful this night turned out to be, you weren’t facing it alone.

And finally, the time had come.

The world seemed to narrow to a single, blinding focus as you pushed, every ounce of energy you had left poured into this final effort. The voices of the medical team swirled around you—encouraging, instructing—but all you could truly hear was Joe.

His voice was steady, firm but soft, like a lighthouse in a storm. “You’ve got this, baby. You’re so close. I’m right here.” His hand gripped yours with unwavering strength, grounding you when you felt like you were splintering apart.

Another push. The room tilted slightly, your vision swimming as exhaustion tugged at your every muscle. But then—then—there was a shift in the air, a crescendo of activity from the doctors, and suddenly, the sound you’d been waiting for burst into the room.

A cry.

A wail so raw and new that it seemed to rip through every other sound, anchoring you firmly back to reality.

Joe’s breath hitched beside you, a sharp inhale as he straightened up, his eyes wide and unblinking. “He’s here,” he whispered, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “He’s here.”

Maisie, who had been pacing like a caged animal near the back of the room, let out a sob so loud and unrestrained it made one of the nurses jump. “Oh my god, oh my god! It’s a boy! He’s really here!”

Her tears came in rivers, and she pressed a tissue to her face, smearing mascara into a black mess. “I’m never going to be normal again!” she wailed, though her voice cracked with joy.

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you felt the weight of your baby being placed on your chest. The tiny, warm bundle shifted against you, his cries tapering off as he rooted instinctively. His skin was pink and wrinkled, his hair a dark tuft of softness.

You could barely see through the tears streaming down your face, but none of that mattered. “Hi,” you choked out, your voice cracking. “Hi, baby. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Joe leaned over you, his face inches from the baby’s, his own tears spilling freely now. His hand trembled as he brushed a finger against the baby’s tiny fist, which curled immediately around it. “Hey, buddy,” Joe said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

It was 7:09 a.m., and the sun was rising outside the hospital window, casting the room in a golden glow. Time seemed to stop for a moment, the three of you cocooned in a bubble of love and relief.

Maisie sniffled dramatically from her corner. “He’s going to be the quarterback of my heart forever.” She clutched at her chest like she was physically overwhelmed. “I’m gonna buy him so many tiny football jerseys, you don’t even understand.”

Joe let out a wet laugh, shaking his head as he kissed the top of your hair. “Maisie, give it an hour before you start planning his draft.”

“Nope. I’m in it for life,” she shot back, though her voice wavered with emotion.

The baby stirred against you, his little nose scrunching up as he adjusted to the strange, new world. Joe pressed another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his eyes shining as they met yours.

“You’re amazing,” he said, his voice cracking. “I can’t believe you did that. He’s here, and he’s ours.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. “I can’t believe it either. Look at him, Joe. He’s perfect.”

Joe nodded, his jaw tightening as another wave of emotion hit him. “Yeah. He really is.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, the chaos of the world outside fading into nothingness. It didn’t matter that you were exhausted, or that your body ached in ways you hadn’t known it could.

What mattered was the tiny life cradled against you, the miracle you and Joe had created together.

Your son.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[joetavis]

2012 Avengers Tower AU:

Tony and Steve just got into a heated argument about who is the most American (both insist that it's definitely not them):

Tony: 4th of July.

Steve: Actually, the Army made that up.

Tony: You are called Captain AMERICA.

Steve: And yet I'm not even fully American. I'm also Irish.

Tony: I am actually- like actually, a quarter Italian and at least I know the language.

Steve: You are a genius, You knowing something doesn't make you less American.

Tony: Actually, the American education system begs to differ.

______

Steve: Your favourite food is Cheeseburgers.

Tony: YOUR favourite food is Cheeseburgers!

Steve: True. Lunch?

Tony: Sure.

*fast food break*

______

Steve: You worked for the American government.

Tony: You were born of the American government.

Steve: Personality wise, though, I'm not American at all.

Tony: Bullshit- You are all freedom, self-righteousness, honour.

Steve: Nothing honourable about America no more.

Tony: You are an American Soldier. Is there anything else that America's better known for than their military?

Steve: You've funded and supplied the military.

Tony: I stopped, you didn't. Also pretty sure you've known more presidents than I did.

Steve: I knew 6 total, you?

Tony. Hm- 8. But I bet you have more of their phone numbers.

Steve: As if you don't have any?

Tony: I delete their numbers immediately after they give them too me.

Steve: Huh, me too actually.

Tony: Anyway, You're blond with blue eyes.

Steve: Which is more of an Irish trait.

Tony: It's really not.

Steve: And you are rich, hence you achieved the American dream.

Tony: Also bullshit! The American Dream is from rags to riches, and I was always rich, so no Dream came true over here, baby! You on the other hand, didn't you grow up poor?

Steve: Yes, but I'm not rich.

Tony: You live in a penthouse.

Steve: Your penthouse!

Tony: I do feel like marrying rich is part of the American Dream and hence- you achieved it buddy.

Steve: We aren't married.

Tony: Ah, details.

______

Tony: You're still more American than me- You are all: Freedom, Freedom, Freedom.

Steve: And you aren't? Financial Freedom, Sexual Freedom, you are very free spirit.

Tony: Oh, I could teach you the ways of sexual freedom, too, darling ;)

Steve: See, you're shameless, American.

Tony: Oh, I'll show you how shameless I am-

*sex break*

______

Tony: The public loves you. You are literally Americas Sweetheart.

Steve: What? If anyone you are America's Sweetheart. Everyone knows Tony Stark, you are in the press all the time?

Tony: And they don't know Cap? There are like 10 movies about you.

Steve: Cap is just an alias, Steve Rogers is just a boy from Brooklyn.

Tony: My point! Brooklyn.

Steve: What Point? Malibu. AND New York!

______

Tony: Nah- You're definitely more American! You're colours are red white and blue. Which by the way- pretty self obsessed. And is there something more American than being obsessed with yourself?

Steve: ...

Tony: Ok. I see how that might have lost me the argument. I still think you're more American though.

*They turn to the other avengers in the room*

Steve: Only one way to settle this: Nat? Who of us is more American?

Nat: The fact that you are even arguing about this makes both of you way too American for me to deal with this. But since I'm russian, I will say the one of you that annoys me more is American, sorry Tony.

Tony: This is ludicrous. Captain America?

Nat: Well you are obsessed with Captain America, nothing more American than that.

Clint: He has a crush on him, too.

Steve: See? I win.

Tony: huh? So you are saying that I'm the most American because I like a very American thing?

The Avengers: Yes!

Tony smiles: Well, then. Since Steve likes me, and I'm the most American thing in the world, I guess that makes him the most American. Case closed. I win.

Steve: Doesn't work like that. We could turn that argument for ever.

Tony: And I will, I'm petty like that, I'll wear you out, Rogers.

Steve: My stamina is endless and so is my will to be right.

Nat: I changed my mind, that was obnoxiously American, Steve wins.

Tony: Ha! See? I'm the best.

Bruce: Arrogance is also pretty American. I vote for Tony.

Clint: Captain America got my vote- hello?

Nat: Technically i'm not American, so not allowed to vote.

Tony: You're lame, I could have won, Nat.

Steve: Well, that settles it. I am way too American, if I'm almost lost to you.

______

Tony: Hm. You know, now that we talked about voting- I may be more American, but if we both ever run for president, you'd definitely win.

Steve: That's crazy. You would definitely win! I couldn't even pay for the campaign.

Tony: Well, actually-

*Camera zooms out on the rest of the Avengers slowly leaving the room, shaking their heads in exasperation*

[deathbxnny]

I’ve been busy.. but that doesnt stop me from daydreaming!

Can i request platonic Vi with a best friend that is like Wriothesley? I didnt realized how similar those two are until i saw Wriothesley’s birthday art. It’s just.. mind blowing. ALSO WRIOTHESLEY AND CLORINDE, VI AND CAITLYN. DO YOU SEE IT?! Personally, i dont ship Wrio and Clorinde but i can see why people even ship them in the first place. I see them as platonic besties who support their endeavor with their respective lover (Neuvilette and Navia respectively)

Context:

Reader and Vi met in prison and just clicked bc they just understood each other. When Caitlyn came to ask Vi for help, Vi also made Caitlyn to allow reader out with her as well. Whatever happens next is your choice to make but please also note how reader is from Piltover.

That’s all and have a good day/night!

(School is just.. really busy rn and i have my final exams next week. Im honestly scared, so i might not be active for a while here. But know that i do read your stuff to time to time to destress. Also i really like the post with my navia request, tysm ^_^)

- Flower Anon 🌸

Vi with a best friend Wriothesley-like!Gn!Reader.

Your words about the Wriothesley and Clorinde comparison have enlightened something in my mind lmao. Also, good luck with your exams, Flower Anon! I really, really hope that they go well and dw about not being active much! I appreciate your support either way and hope you'll enjoy this!<3

Content: Reader is from Piltover, past murders, crimes, platonic relationships, Vi and Reader being a menace duo, sfw

Reader has no mentioned pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You and Vi had your backs from day one after meeting in Stillwater. You were both teens then, having been imprisoned under terrible circumstances, and that made you stick together as a team. There was no one else to look out for you in that hell after all.

During your long, seemingly endless time in jail, you both got to know each other perfectly, with no details about your pasts spared. She came to know about your dark past and the murder of your abusive parents rather early on, yet never judged you for it. If anything, she may have been the only one to understand you.

This was surprising, considering your vastly different upbringings. Vi came from poverty down in the slums of Zaun, whilst you once tasted silver spoons and golden dishes on the daily. But it all faded in this hellscape of a prison, where you both endured torture and pain as equals.

You became an unlikely duo out of that, one that upheld a scary and menacing reputation amongst prisoners and wards alike. She was the more angry, violent one, whilst you were a bit of a joker, your words alone enough to send shivers down anyone's spines. It made you both feel more confident and hopeful, even if a way out was unlikely after many years spent in the prison.

Now, far into your adulthood, you decided to give up on that childish dream of freedom, accepting that your life in Stillwater is all you'll ever know. You were used to it by now and built a routine to follow and survive with. But things changed when that Enforcer girl showed up.

You didn't trust her at all, despite roughly remembering who she was. And unfortunately, she remembered you two, although for all the wrong reasons she would simply scoff at. However, since Vi decided to make a deal with Caitlyn, you decided to leave the past behind and simply accept this opportunity to finally escape this place.

And so, after what felt like endless years of fighting for your survival together, you were finally permitted to breathe, mostly, fresh air and live freely again... even with the grim mission at hand that often left you having to comfort Vi whenever things got too out of hand with her emotions. Hunting down Jinx was more traumatic than she'd let on anyways.

But alas, you eventually began enjoying your time out by trying new tea and pastries, running around your okd neighborhoods, and beating up people with Vi that wronged her in the past. It was all in good fun, even if Caitlyn had to hunt you both down every time.

You were the more calmer and gentler out of the three of you, however, as your rationality and ability to lead effortlessly often came in handy. You were somewhat of a balance between the two when things got really bad, despite your own reservations, and eventually ended up being an accidental wingman with how well you spoke of Vi to Cait. You knew firsthand how bad the prejudice against Zaunites could be and would be damned if she ever mistreated Vi because of it.

Ultimately, life turned out a lot more chaotic outside than it was outside of the prison... but with your best friend at your side, you suppose things would only get more interesting from here.

[mariacallous]

In 2025, we will see a fundamental transformation in the language of climate politics. We’re going to hear a lot less about “reducing emissions” from scientists and policymakers and a lot more about “phasing out fossil fuels” or “ending coal, oil, and methane gas.” This is a good thing. Although it is scientifically accurate, the phrase “reducing emissions” is too easily used for greenwashing by the fossil-energy industry and its advocates. The expression “ending coal, oil, and methane gas,” on the other hand, keeps the focus on the action that will do most to resolve the climate crisis.

This discourse shift has been initiated by the latest report of the United Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. The world’s climate scientists say that already existing fossil-energy infrastructure is projected to emit the total carbon budget for halting global heating at 2 degrees Celsius over preindustrial temperatures. This statement means two things. It means that the world cannot develop any more coal, oil, or gas, if we want our planet to remain relatively livable. And it means that even some already developed fossil-fuel deposits will need to be retired before the end of their lifetime, since we need to leave space in the carbon budget for essential activities like agriculture.

The international community has already integrated this new science into its global climate governance. The 28th Conference of the Parties—the annual conference of the world’s nations party to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change—called for every country to contribute to “transitioning away from fossil fuels.” Never before in the history of international climate negotiations had the main cause of global heating been clearly named and specifically targeted. The United Nations itself now calls for the phaseout of coal, oil, and methane gas.

This new climate language will become mainstream in 2025. In her policy plans for her second term aspPresident of the European Commission, Ursula von der Leyen pledged not to work to lower EU emissions, but to “continue to bring down energy prices by moving further away from fossil fuels.” The new UK government promised in its manifesto that it will withhold licenses for new coal and for oil exploration—and states outright that it will “ban fracking for good.” And in France, Macron has explicitly vowed to end fossil-fuel use entirely.

Climate politics in the US will also evolve in the wake of Donald Trump’s reelection for president. Republicans will continue to embrace a “drill, baby, drill” climate agenda, denying the danger or sometimes even the reality of climate change while advocating for expanding domestic crude and methane-gas production. They may try to greenwash their policies by claiming they embrace an “all of the above” energy strategy, but this messaging will have limited effects. Due to political polarization the association of Trump with coal, oil, and gas will raise Democratic support for phasing out fossil fuels. Before the 2024 election, 59 percent of Democrats said climate change should be the Federal government’s top priority, but only 48 percent said they supported a phaseout. In 2025 majorities of Democrats will begin to support fossil-fuel phaseout, especially if climate advocates revive science-based climate messaging, continue to emphasize that clean-energy deployment is job creation, and frame choosing to phase out fossil fuels as a form of freedom that upholds our right to a livable future.

Given that Democrats won many down-ballot races, and cities and states are still pledging to pass climate policies, this shift in the Democratic majority will keep the US on the map in international climate negotiations, whether or not Trump withdraws the US from the Paris Agreement, creating new local alliances with the UK, the EU, and global south nations calling for international fossil-fuel phaseout targets. This bloc can counter the power of petrostates in international climate negotiations. At the very least, the mainstreaming of the language of fossil-fuel phaseout will help undermine the greenwashing strategy of current oil and gas company PR, which falsely advertises industry as pursuing technologies at scale to help “reduce emissions” even as they continue their upstream investments.

Of course the petrostates, along with India and China, will push back against the rhetoric of fossil fuel phaseout. But India can be helped to turn away from its domestic coal stores by clean-energy financing at close to cost along with the international aid and technology transfers already pledged at previous climate conferences. And although its rhetoric may not align with that of the West, China should not be imagined as opposed to climate action. China has enacted the most comprehensive climate policy on the planet, in service of its goal to peak emissions by 2030 and achieve net zero emissions by 2060. If their climate messaging remains focused on “emissions,” in light of their plan to keep using fossil fuels past 2030, they are preparing for next decade’s pivot away from fossil fuels by building out clean energy at a truly extraordinary rate.

In 2025 climate discourse will recenter on the message that halting global heating requires the phaseout of coal, oil, and gas. This new consensus will shift the politics of climate change and help motivate an urgent sprint to a clean-energy, ecologically integrated economy—the only economy that ensures a livable future.

[vibratingskull]

You just wowed me with your sub!Thrawn ma'am .

May I ask for another sub story?

How about that reader has him in cock cage for a long time she takes it off but doesn't indulge him yet she have put on his uniform and go to work. She tease him all through his shift until he can't help but come in his trousers .

Later, she calls him a good boy and rides his face.

Yes, I have a filthy mind.

ifjdfhigubfgboghguyr SUB THRAWN MY BELOVED!!!!!

₊ ˙ ⊹ .Thrawn x F!reader₊ ˙ ⊹ .

Tags : SubThrawn, penis cage, sextoy, humping, face sitting, oral (F receiving), tension, Thrawn is almost a brat, almost ❤️

You turn the key. 

*click* 

Thrawn tenses for a split second before letting out a pleased sigh and relaxing. You look up to him with a smile, fully taking off his penis cage off his member. With his head thrown backward and deep breaths, he seems relieved to have it off. 

“Was it painful?” You ask a bit worried. 

The cage is a tad too small for his member’s size but he never complained so you thought it was good for him. 

“Not at all...” He exhales deeply, enjoying his newfound freedom, his large hands on the armchair, solidly cuffed, “But the sensations when the compression stops are just so... Deep.” 

You peck the tip of his nose, gently massaging his member to encourage the blood to flow correctly. He immediately hisses and tenses back, a gasp escaping his tempting lips. 

“You are really sensitive, ch’acah.” You note with a touch of amusement. 

He rolls his shoulders, trying to find his footing as his dormant member slowly awakens back. You can already feel it hardening in the palm of your hand at your gentle caress. He lasted 9 full months, without counting the times you unlocked him for hygienic maintenance of course, but he seemed ready to push further. He does have impressive stamina after all. 

But he doesn’t appear displeased to be out either. 

You kneel between his divided legs and ogle his impressive member with hungry eyes. Thrawn looks down at you with pleading eyes, so deep in subspace. His face is stern and perfectly controlled but his eyes are begging for your touch and attention. 

The only other indication of his desperation is his deep breaths, moving his chest up and down, which seems to worsen when you teasingly approach your lips to his cock. You look into his eyes and provokingly lick your lips with a grin. His nails dig into the leather of the chair and he repositions himself slightly in preparation for what is to come. 

He is always so sensitive after you release him from his cage, his nerve endings awakening pleasantly in his shaft as you take him in your mouth to bring him to his knees, in utter desperation for an orgasm. Those long months of compression finally melt in your mouth’s warmth and delicious sensations. 

You absolutely love to suck him off after taking the cage off, with him restrained in some way, biting into his gag bar, rending absolutely feral as you impose on him your own pace, leading his pleasure by your whims.  

Only you have the power to push him to completion. 

Or not... 

This is for you to decide. 

You see him gulp as your lips are mere centimeters from his needy flesh, expectation rising in his veins. 

“I have something for you, my sweet.” You say innocently with a bright smile. 

You reach for your pocket and take out a cylinder of very flexible material in a flashy pink color. He raises an eyebrow. 

“A condom? This is good forethinking, we should incorporate it more often in our games.” He says with his on-brand dry humor. 

You chuckle.  

Of course, you always use condoms, you are not irresponsible people. 

“This, my dear, is not a condom.” You explain,  

You take his member and put it on, not only does it look like a condom, but it is also put on the same way! 

“This is a toy. Look! It even has fun colors.” You poke the tip and it lights up with plenty of very little LED lights blinking on and off. 

Now his cock looks like a christmas tree. 

“Absolutely charming.” He responds with his usual detachment. 

You look at him cheekily. 

He has absolutely no idea what you have planned for him. 

You take your comlink and open an app, changing the light colors. 

“I like the green one, don’t you?” You mock. 

He deeply inhales, his patience starting to run thin. You lower your head a leave a big kiss on his hard member. 

“All right, that’s all very well but we have to go to the bridge now!” You just say, uncuffing him. 

He looks at you with the closest of a chocked expression he ever had. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, absolutely baffled. 

“I mean t: It is time for us to go to work, Grand Admiral. Did you see the time? Come on!” 

You take the handcuffs away and start passing on your uniform and putting your hair in the reglementary military bun while he remains seated in the leather armchair, still. 

“You are going to leave me... in this state?” He demands. 

You turn your head to him and shoot him a big smile. 

Are you really going to leave him to go on the bridge painfully hard and needy? 

Yes. 

“You have a cramped agenda, Grand Admiral, I cannot possibly monopolize more of your precious time with a clear conscience.” 

He remains frozen, looking at you in disbelief for a split second before getting a hold of himself. His turmoil disappears to leave the place to the usual cold and stern mask, recovering his full haughtiness. He stands up elegantly, flattening his disheveled hair back. 

He looks at you with contempt. 

“Of course, Captain. Duty calls for us.” 

Oh he is so pissed!  

You can tell it, it is something in his aura, the slight flexion of his throat muscles, the light venom in the tone... 

You initiated this session this morning, and have been massaging his thick body, grinding yourself against his groin, or painting motifs on his vibrant blue skin with colorful paint while peppering sweet kisses on his lips, and when you pushed him into this armchair to take off the cage and teased him, his imagination must have started to run wild with all the pleasure you could give him. 

Only for you to cockblock him last second. 

That would frustrate anyone, even Thrawn, especially after all the time it took him to sexually open up to you. All the trust he needed to be naked and vulnerable in front of someone else... 

And now you are denying him so cruelly? 

Sometimes he ponders if it was a good idea to let you lead your sex life. 

But you always make it up to him, reminding him why you are so good at that. And he always ends up reveling in pleasure, deep in subspace, a slave under your touch. 

“I am sure a good cold shower will help!” you simply respond, kissing his cheek. 

He sighs and heads to the bathroom. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

This meeting is so fucking boring, to be honest. 

You are sitting in Thrawn’s office, listening to Lyste about the latest mission, with Agent Kallus and Admiral Konstantine all around the desk, Thrawn sitting imperially, presiding the session. 

You are listening to Lieutenant Lyste ranting about how he applied the orders to the letters, and how he worked really well and hard, and what a good boy he is! 

Okay... That isn’t true.  

But you cannot help but roll your eyes at his will to paint a shiny portrait in front of Thrawn. Like this is going to get him somewhere. If you really work well and efficiently, Thrawn will notice it, no need to be licking his boots like a puppy! 

You slightly turn your head to agent Kallus who is as blasé as you are, looking back at you with ‘when is he going to shut up?’ spelled in his eyes. You shrug. Thrawn has way more patience, listening to the lieutenant with his hands folded before his mouth, gaze straight and fixed on the junior officer. 

“This will be all, Lieutenant. I have the picture.” He FINALLY raises his hand to make him shut up. 

Thank the Maker! 

Lyste seems disappointed to have been cut off by his idol but obeys. You refocus on your husband taking the floor. His morning frustration is long gone, he has recovered his unsinkable persona and attitude. And his signature cold, detached, aloof mask. 

Mask that you absolutely adore witnessing crumbling between your expert hands. 

And you have just the thing for that. 

You take your comlink out discreetly and reopen the app. You slide the heat setting up and await it to take effect. 

Thrawn is talking assuredly of the situation and after a minute or so he stammers over a word. Very unlike him. He clears his throat and resumes his speech with impeccable confidence so easily nobody noticed anything. 

But you saw it. 

Thrawn burning gaze slides to you as he realizes what the toy is doing, looking for confirmation. 

Really? 

Now? 

In front of them? 

You gently smile in response, pretending to be fully focused on his speech while your mind is already picturing all you could do to him. He seems to roll his eyes at you discreetly, refocusing on the discussion at hand. You listen intently, focusing on his voice inflections and the tension of his throat muscles. 

He has everything under control. For now... 

You slide your finger up again, innocently smiling. His gaze travels to you again, a subtle warning shining in his enthralling red eyes. You bat your eyes at him in response.   

He lets out a single tired short sigh as the toy heats up to pussy warmth. Usually, that would not be enough to make him fumble and he holds on very well, you will admit that. 

But he spent nine entire months without any stimulation of any kind and you know your lovely Chiss... 

He slouches to the back of his chair and seems to roll his shoulders while keeping his voice perfectly stable and assured like you know him for. These are those little signs that you love noticing when he starts slipping. No other person knows him well enough to realize the nature of his discomfort or simply notice the signs. 

You type on the app and perk up your ear discreetly. Sure enough, a very low, very subtle sound of a little motor starts, and Thrawn immediately puts his hands under the desk either to palp his groin for relief or to dig his nails in his pants’ fabric in a desperate soothing attempt. 

You chose that toy for its discretion but if a moment of silence takes place at any moment, everyone will hear, and given the hardened expression of Thrawn, he is keenly aware of that fact. You ponder, should you accelerate the toy again or be nice and merciful and leave the torture at that level? 

But where is the fun in that? 

You’re about to turn up the setting when Thrawn catches you and very slowly, very subtly shakes his head at you. You tilt your head with a wink and slide your finger up. 

He immediately closes his eyes with a hiss. 

“Grand Admiral?” Admiral Konstantine asks, “Are you all right?” 

“This is nothing, just a phantom pain after intense training.” Thrawn sternly responds, reopening his eyes. 

“Do you need help to go to the Medbay?” Lyste immediately stands up, ready to throw himself at Thrawn’s side to support him. 

You refrain from a snigger and for a split second, you think Thrawn will just bluntly ask him if he is a stupid idiot. But Thrawn’s face melts into a perfectly mastered expression of calmness and peaceful reassurance. 

“No, Lieutenant Lyste. There is no need, but I thank you for your concerns. I think I have everything I need to refine my next campaign, you may all go.” He very politely answers, with a very tight smile, gesturing them delicately to the door. 

They all stand up and lightly bow their head to the Chiss and you observe them exiting the room calmly, discussing the next operation. 

“You may go, Commander.” Thrawn placidly informs you, “We are done here.” 

You turn back to him, grinning. 

“Are we really?” You tease. 

“Absolutely.” He takes his datapad and starts working, focusing on the files while the sounds of the little motor resonate in the confined office. 

You slide the setting up again with a mischievous pleasure. His throat muscles contract but he keeps his expression in check. 

“I am sure I can still be of use...” You stand up and skirt the desk to join him. 

“I do not see how. You may regain your post, we will enter hyperspace in 15 minutes.” His eyes remain on the screen. 

“Oh, I do not need 15 minutes with you.” You sit on his desk, crossing your legs seductively. 

He looks up at you, gauging you up and down in silence, and turns back to his screen, blatantly ignoring you. Your hand comes caressing his cheek, making him tilt his head back to you. 

“Are you mad, Ch’acah?” 

“I do not see why I would be mad. At least not yet.” He responds, almost uninterested. 

“Then you will not mind kissing me goodbye before I go?” You coo. 

He sighs and spins his chair toward you, and before he can stand up to reach your lips you sit on his lap, applying pressure on his cock. 

“This is not the time to-” He hisses, but you press a finger on his lips, shushing him. 

“Shhhhhhhhhhh... Why do you want to throw me out? We can remain a little bit together, this is so rare.” 

He growls, his fiery rubies glowing with warnings. 

“I know when my big boy needs some attention.” You coo, “I was mean this morning and I want to make it up to you.” You peck his lips. 

“It can wait that we come back to our quarters tonight.” He objects sternly. 

“No, actually it cannot.”  

And you wrap your arms around his neck, nudging against his large chest to tenderly kiss his luscious lips. You seductively moan as your lips touch and dance in a sensual embrace, and if Thrawn is too thick-headed to submit during shift hours, he never can say no to a gentle kiss. As cold and detached as he is, he cannot refuse the simple tenderness and warmth of a tender kiss. And you never refused him one. 

You love them too much yourself. 

His hands come to hold the back of your head and your back softly, like you could break in his grip. You lick his lips and he opens his mouth for you to enter with your tongue to hug and dance with his and a low purr that you adore starts in your Chiss chest. You giggle wholeheartedly at that, you absolutely cannot refuse him anything when that soft sound starts.  

In those moments you want to spoil him rotten, to give him so much until his red eyes roll inside his head and his back arches dramatically under your touch. 

You just love spoiling your big boy, your handsome Ch’acah. 

Whether he likes it or not... 

You sneakily slide the setting to the max and force your ass down his against his clothed member. He instantly bites down your lips with a growl, his embrace immediately releasing you to dig into the arms of the chair.  

You lick the pearl of blood off your lips with a pleased snigger as his chest rises up and down against your breast. You start grinding your hips against his while the motor sound is now unmistakable. You can feel the vibrations of the toy on your clothed pussy with how pressed it is. 

Far from unpleasant. 

“Stop that.” He hisses. 

“Mmmmmmh. No, I don’t think so, Ch’acah.” You peck his lips pressed in a thin line. 

You switch the vibrations to another setting. This one mimics a handjob by applying pressure up and down the member at a steady pace. 

Pace that you decide. And you know what pace forces your Chiss on his knees. 

Thrawn gasps and throws his head backward exposing his stunning thick neck that you hasten to kiss and lick. He is so hot and warm and the stimulation worsens it even more.  

You rock your hips back and forth and then up and down, getting your own pleasure while Thrawn slowly loses his sanity. 9 months in his penis cage rendered him into a rabid animal in dire straits, and you fully take advantage of it. 

“Please...” He huffs between gritted teeth, “Please...” 

“Please what, my sweet? What do you want?” You coo, kissing the length of his muscular blue neck, unbuttoning his collar for better access, “You want me to stop?” 

Thrawn gasps and whines at your words and you lick his exposed throat with a growl of satisfaction. 

“What my sweet?” You tease, “I am not you: I do not read people’s minds. Tell me what you want, Ch’eo Ch’acah.” 

He growls and moans at the same time and his hands release the arms of the chair to grip your hips and force them back down his swollen member hard. His grip is so tight it is painful but you love it. 

“Please... I beg of you... Ch’acah, please, Ma’am...” His skin starts to glisten with sweat and he tastes salty on your tongue. 

“Mhm? Speak my love.” You peck his apple as he starts rutting his hips with yours, desperate for stimulation and friction to carry him to orgasm. 

A cherished orgasm, desired for 9 whole months... 

“Please...” 

“Yes, my sweet, yes. Tell me. I am all ears, I am hanging on your words.” You invite sadistically. 

“I need to cum, please Ma’am...” 

You grin, and without warning, you bite down his perfect neck and the results are not long coming. 

You feel him instantly tensing up, every one of his powerful muscles contracting as one as he lets out a long pleased gasp as a single shudder crosses his entire massive body... 

You lick and kiss the bite as he slowly relaxes in your arms, slouching completely in his chair, gasping for air as you feel a wet spot spreading under you. 

This is the first time you made him cum in his pristine, precious Grand Admiral uniform. Took some time. 

He slightly reopens his shining red eyes, a lonely drop of sweat rolling on the side of his divine face, his lips barely parted to breathe, diving into your human gaze. 

“Very good, Big boy.” You boop his nose, smiling warmly at him, “I love you so much.” 

“I...” He breathes, straightening his posture back, recovering his haughty demeanor, “I could punish you for that, Commander.” 

“For making you cum?” You tilt your head with a mischievous grin, “After you begged me for it?” 

He frowns at you but relaxes rapidly in front of your pleased expression, sighing in resignation but a tight smile comes illuminating his beautiful face. His hand cups your cheek, brushing your skin with his thumb. 

“You will be my death, one day, (Y/n)...” 

You giggle and kiss the tip of his nose. 

“I am your lifeline, you mean.” 

He hums, as his purr gets louder, pressing his forehead against yours. You take his two cheeks in your own palms and peck his gorgeous face all over: his cheekbones, his temples, his chin, his forehead bumps, his eyelids, his nose... 

Muah! Muah! Muah! Muah! 

You press your mouths together for a final soft kiss that he eagerly gives back and even seems to follow you when you part from him with a chuckle. 

“All right, Grand Admiral. Duty calls for us.” 

“Indeed.” Thrawn rebuttons his collar and slicks his hair back as he stands up, “I first need to change.” 

You pout, pursing your lips. 

“Can’t you keep those clothes on?” You simper. 

He considers you sternly before a single chuckle shakes his shoulders. He leans forward to kiss your cheek with a short purr. 

“Do not push it, Ch’acah. You know the limits.” 

You sniff but quickly recover your smug grin, dramatically looking at your chrono. 

“As predicted, Grand Admiral: less than 15 minutes.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

You make your spine pop satisfyingly with a moan. 

Your shift ended an hour ago but you did some overtime on your bed with your datapad, some file treatment that you promised Commodore Faro to help with. That’s when Thrawn decides to enter your quarters, his shift ended at last. 

He lets out a single sigh, combing his luscious strands with his fingers as he heads to the dresser to take off his jacket. 

“Hard day?” You inquire softly, “I was about to take my shower, but you can go first if yo-” You have no time to finish your sentence, Thrawn lowers himself to capture your lips in a breathtaking kiss that leaves you dizzy. 

“I want to do something before we shower, (Y/n)...” He whispers in your ear before biting it gently. 

You giggle as his hands snake their way around your back to hug you tight. He spins as he falls on the bad, pulling you on top of him, where he loves you to be. You cannot help but burst out laughing in his arms, hugging him back hard, letting him explore your neck. 

“And what do you might want, Grand Admiral? After such a long day you still have energy to spare?” 

He purrs, pecking your neck endlessly up and down. 

“I always keep energy for you.” He slightly growls, “After 9 months, I have so much to give you... Please, Ma’am.” 

You give him a side eye. 

That last two words where almost whined 

Almost... 

You part from him, sitting on his toned stomach to detail him from all your height. His hands come to grab your thighs, caressing them up and down gently. You look into each other eyes, entranced by your lover. 

His shining eyes are feverish, dark, and glimmer of that particular sparkle when he enters subspace and is ready to submit. 

“What do you want, handsome?” You boop his nose with a grin. 

“I want you. I want you shuddering and trembling against my lips. I want you to suffocate me with your pussy. I want to pass out between your thighs... Please, Ma’am.” 

“Hum.” You sniff, “I don’t know... You changed your clothes when I asked you to keep the former ones.” You sadistically refuse, crossing your arms over your breast. 

“Ma’am, you know some things are simply not possible.” He negotiates with a slight edge to his voice. 

“No. You refused to access my demand, why should I access yours, big boy?” You gently move backward to sit on his loin, pressing it down as you tilt left and right. 

“Please, Ma’am... I have been good for 9 months, you forced me to watch you play with yourself in my cage without letting me touch you... You tortured me endlessly. This is the only thing I ask for...” 

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

“I am the one to decide who deserves what in those sheets...” You hammer home. 

Thrawn frowns but remains silent, gulping as his hands slightly squeeze your thighs in his growing frustration. 

“But...” You dramatically say, raising your finger, “You make a point. I did torture you for 9 months and you proved yourself obedient and resilient.” You mercifully admit. 

He deeply breath, awaiting your sentence as you pretend to think about it, your chin between two fingers, hovering over your dear Ch’acah. 

You sweet Chiss that accept to submit to you against all odds. 

You unsinkable Grand Admiral who revealed himself to be a submissive junkie, although he tried very, very hard to hide it from you. 

And from himself, honestly... 

“All right.” You judge with a regal voice, “You fairly earned this one.” 

His breathing deepens as he licks his lips in anticipation. You boop his nose with a smile and get off the bed to retrieve his favorite handcuff while he positions himself comfortably on his large double bed. 

“Please, Ma’am. No handcuff tonight.” 

You look at him with surprise, the cuff already in your hand. 

“But you love to be tied up usually?” 

“I want to hold you tight against my mouth, Ma’am. Please.” 

Your gaze travels back to the cuff in your palm and you shrug, putting them back. You start to take off your uniform’s pants when Thrawn asks for something else. 

“Please Ma’am, would you please wear your red babydoll? I adore this one, it is such a good look on you.” He pleads. 

You consider him, raising your eyebrow again. 

“You are really demanding tonight.” You falsely chastise. 

“Please, Ma’am. For me...” 

You are absolutely baffled!  

Does he really think he can ask and demand anything he wants with those puppy eyes and soft, deep voice and you will say yes to everything? 

Well he’s right! 

You cannot say no to him when he has this sparkle in his eyes and that devotee’s voice. 

You shake your head as you take the babydoll in the dresser and enter the bathroom to change. 

You reappear, striking a pose as you lean against the doorframe. 

“Hey, you...” You whisper seductively. 

Thrawn made a quick work of his boots and opened his pants, sliding his hand over the tight boxer, getting tighter and tighter by the second as he admires you. He deeply breathes as he observes you up and down in that transparent red apparel. 

A feast for his eyes only. 

He never departs from his detached and cold expression, but his eyes shine so brightly you could turn off the lights and you would see as bright as day! 

You make your way to the bed, swaying your hips, and crawl on all fours toward your blue lover with a satisfied laugh. You hover over him, hands on each side of his gorgeous head, gauging him, letting the tension rise deliciously. 

“Are you ready, Ch’acah?” You ask softly, caressing the side of his face with your knuckles fondly. 

He grabs your hand tight to kiss your palm reverently before brushing his cheek with it, a deep purr emanating from the depths of his large chest. 

“I am...” He eagerly comfirms. 

“All right. Make yourself comfortable, big boy, I have high expectations for you.” 

“Did I ever disappoint you, Ma’am?” He bites back, making himself comfortable among the numerous pillows. 

You tut him not to get an attitude with you and place your legs on each side of his head, moving your hips left to right slowly. When he raises his head to close the gap you raise your hips to deny him. 

He immediately growls his displeasure but knows better than to grab your hips to force them down. Instead, he just looks at you, frowning. 

“A problem?” You smile smuggly. 

He keeps growling but kisses your leg on his left, his ardent gaze never leaving yours. 

“Better.” You sentence. 

You resume the swaying of your hips over his head, taunting him as you hold onto the bedframe for support. 

“Ma’am...” He presses, “Please.” 

“Beg a little more, Big boy.” You muse, amused. 

“Please, Ma’am. It plagues my mind since you refused to let me touch you in my cage...” 

You look down at him, still swaying. You want to continue his torture, but to be honest, you are missing his expert lips on your cunt. 

He does it just so well that you do not know where or when he refined his technique to eat pussies like that! He told you he simply follows his instincts and desires but can a natural be that good without former experiences? 

Apparently, Thrawn is. 

You slowly go down and Thrawn immediately raises his head up to dive his nose in your pubes to deeply inhale your sexual musk deep into his lungs. 

“Impatient are you?” You taunt. 

For sole response he gently kisses your pussylips loudly, insolently looking at you. You hum in response as he lays back down, his hands gently gripping your hips to guide them toward his eager mouth. He resumes the delicate kisses like he is a devotee kissing a holy relic. You feel his warm lips dancing on your sensitive naked pussy and his purr drops a new octave, thoroughly pleased to have his treat at long last, eyes closed to savor the moment. 

You stopped your hips low enough to have your cunt on his mouth and high enough to not fully sit on him not to cause any pain, so you are in a somewhat painful middle for your legs’ muscles. Thrawn reopens his eyes in a flash, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You do not have time to explain he forces your hips down harshly, making you yelp in surprise. 

You are now fully sitting on his face with all your weight. You try to raise back up a bit for his comfort but his purr stops instantly for a pissed-off growl. 

“Arf! I do it for you, Ch’acah!” You explain, frustrated. 

He digs his nails in your tender flesh, his eyes flashing you a warning.  

He will use force to have you suffocate him if he has to. 

You roll your eyes and let him do it, he will regret it soon enough! 

He leaves a final kiss on your pussylips, making you giggle, to his pleasure, and the tip of his tongue traces your entire slit, making you jolt. 

After 9 months, his tongue feels like a first time again. 

He repeats his feat three times before taking a big lap with the flat of his tongue and a deep moan on his part. You gasp with a tremor and his hands release your hips to take a handful of your naked thighs, gripping them hard to keep you in place. 

He laps your cunt conscientiously, grunting and purring loudly, unashamedly professing his pleasure and amusement while he focuses on your quivering pussy. His thumbs gently brush the flesh of your thighs as he laves at you up and down with his usual care and you catch glimpses of his long white fangs from time to time, sending shivers down your spine.   

Your folds are now completely coated with his saliva and you feel your wetness ready to spill out of your pussy at any second under his care now... 

He kisses your slit again and directs his focus higher, to your clit that started to swell up with arousal. He kisses loudly it too and lets out a deep satisfied sigh when he makes it roll between his lips like a lollipop, like a candy he could not stop thinking about. 

He hums, eyes closed as you throw your head back with a gasp, your nails digging into the bedframe as you feel shockwaves of pleasure stronger and stronger coursing your sex, your blood beating furiously, softening your inner muscles like a fluffy pillow. He twists your pearl expertly between his luscious lips, earning a mewl from you and you feel his tongue coming to titillate your bundle of nerve. 

“Oh, frost... Maker!” You curse, feeling your leg muscles starting to tremble. 

He flicks his tongue left and right at high speed, and then sucks loudly on it, working you up like knows so well. Now you can feel your essence dripping out of you lazily, starting to roll on Thrawn’s jaw and throat. He immediately lowers himself back to suck it all out of you like he was drinking some fine wine. 

You can hear him gulping down your slick, purring with joy as he looks back at you like he dared you to stop him. You feel your head spinning and your legs trembling dramatically under all his attention. 

He licks his lips with a satiated growl before returning to your clit again and resuming his actions, faster, harsher, more furious, and desperate, stimulating your pearl like his life depends on it. You cannot help but shout his name in surprise at this new pace. 

Your nice and gentle Chiss let place to a voracious animal that feasts on your pleasure, robbing you of your dignity with each yelp and moan he can get out of you in his furious quest. 

Your entire body shudders, sweat rolls on your temple and back while your essence drips again, soiling his perfect jaw more. You can feel your little clit swelling up even more, pulsating hard under such attention and care. 

Your breath becomes shallow and short as pleasure starts to boil in your veins, ready to explode like lava at any second now. Your inner muscles gorge themself with blood, shivering with delight, tensing and relaxing repeatedly at the entire mercy of Thrawn’s will that keeps you down with strength. 

Thrawn doesn’t break eye contact with you, his rubies are like burning flames with pride and haughtiness, but behind that, you can see hope and desperation lying deep. 

He wants you to enjoy yourself, to use him for your pleasure. 

He wants you to cum. 

He needs you to cum!   

This is pride, his only fancy... Making his Ch’acah cum. 

He gives a final, fated twist at your pearl and you come undone in his hands. You cry his name and squirt violently in his eager, wide-open mouth. 

Your eyes are blinded by a bright white light and your back arches so dramatically you simply fall back on his legs, your pussy still quivering from the orgasm that slowly dissolves into your nerve endings like a warm open fire. 

Your head spins so much you have to close your eyes and dig your nails into the sheets to ground yourself. Thrawn moves under you and when you slide open an eye he is lowering himself to capture your trembling lips again. 

You gulp as his tongue gently invades your mouth to hug yours, begging for any tenderness you would accept to bestow unto him. His purr rises higher even, making his chest vibrate against your breast, his arms circling your back and shoulders in a gentle embrace. You can taste yourself on his tongue and the smell of sex and sweat fills the entire bedroom, proof of your sins. 

“Thank you, Ma’am.” He finally whispers, parting your mouths, “I really needed this.” and he dives his nose into the crook of your neck, nudging himself against you. 

You pant deeply, but in your daze manage to caress his hair tenderly. His hug tightens more at your touch and he brushes his nose on your skin, purring loudly like a big cat. 

“You... You are welcome, Big boy...” You pant, “Taking care of you is my job.” You tiredly respond. 

You start to feel him humping his clothed groin against your gaping, sore pussy as he pecks all over your face enthusiastically. 

“I want more, Ma’am.” He kisses your eyelids, nose, cheek, and forehead, “I need more. Please, Ch’acah... I am begging on my knees.” 

“I... I need a moment first, all right, Big boy? Just a moment...” You gulp with a dry throat. 

Maybe sexually frustrating him for 9 months was a miscalculation on your part... 

Maybe you bit more than you could chew. 

“I will run us a warm bath for you to relax in my arms. And after...” His head looms over yours like an omen, “I will thoroughly devote myself to you for the entire night...” 

@bluechiss @justanothersadperson93 @thrawnspetgoose @Thrawnalani @twilekchiss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @obbicrystaleo@empresskrennic @davesrightshoe @elise2174 @Holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @Janjtje 

[djloveyou3000]

Belladonna

Chapter twelve

Gif by : @bastardcompany

When they arrived home, Russell’s simmering anger was palpable. The oppressive silence during the drive back had been unsettling, and Bell could feel the weight of his unspoken fury pressing down on them.

As soon as the car stopped in the driveway, Russell unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp, deliberate motion. Without sparing Bell a glance, he stormed out of the car and rounded to their side, yanking the door open with enough force to make Bell flinch. His hand darted in, unbuckling their seatbelt and grabbing their wrist before they could react.

He dragged them out of the car, his grip bruising and unrelenting, before slamming the door shut behind them. Bell stumbled slightly, their heart racing in fear. Russell’s silence was terrifying, and his fury was like a storm waiting to break.

He practically shoved them toward the house, and they stumbled again, barely catching themselves. The front door opened and closed with a foreboding thud, sealing them inside.

Russell released his hold on them, only to shove them further into the room. Bell turned to face him, their chest heaving as they struggled to calm their racing heart.

“I have been so nice to you,” Russell began, his voice low and dangerously calm. It was the kind of calm that promised a storm. “I decided not to kill you in Solvetsky. I went out of my way to ask the CIA to get you a job. I’ve fed you, put a roof over your head, bought you everything you could possibly need—and more. I’ve loved you, cared for you, protected you.”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze fixed on them like a predator cornering its prey. “And this is the thanks I get?”

Bell’s breath hitched, and they opened their mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

“You withheld information from me,” he spat, his voice rising with every word. “You didn’t tell me about the journal. You sat there in therapy and spewed some bullshit about Perseus being nice—and you think I wouldn’t find that infuriating? Then you go and lock your journal. Hide it. In my house. And to top it all off, you had the audacity to make that face in therapy when you found out we were married.”

His tone darkened, dripping with venom. “You looked disgusted. Like the very idea repulsed you.” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve given you too much freedom, Bell. That’s on me. I’ve been far too lenient with you. But that ends now.”

Something inside Bell snapped. They could no longer contain the emotions boiling within them.

“It’s not fair!” they shouted, tears streaming down their face. Their voice cracked, but they didn’t care.

Russell’s eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened further. “Did you just fucking talk back to me?” he asked, his voice low and deadly.

But Bell didn’t stop. “It’s not fair! Whenever I try to set boundaries or tell you something you don’t want to hear, you get angry! You guilt-trip me, manipulate me, twist my words—make me feel like I’m the one in the wrong!”

Russell’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides, but Bell didn’t back down.

“I wanted to tell the others about my memories because it’s my choice! The journal is my private thoughts—mine! I don’t owe you access to it! And this marriage—are you serious? When were you going to tell me? When did you even do it? And how did you do it without my consent?”

Bell’s voice broke into sobs, their chest heaving as they finally let everything out.

Russell stood there, shocked, for a brief moment. The sight of Bell standing up to him, their voice raw with emotion, caught him off guard. But his surprise quickly morphed into anger.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he hissed, stepping forward and grabbing their arms in a bruising grip. His voice was low and venomous, each word dripping with possessiveness. “You’re mine, Bell. Mine. To do with as I please. You’re my pet project, my fucking partner, and most importantly—my partner in marriage .”

His grip tightened, making Bell wince. “I own you, Bell. Your soul, your mind—everything that is yours belongs to me. And I’ve got the papers to prove it. So why the fuck would I need your permission for us to get married? You would have accepted it back then.”

Bell’s tears flowed freely, and a part of them knew his words were rooted in truth. But that didn’t make it right.

“It doesn’t matter,” they cried, their voice breaking. “It should have been an us decision—not just you! If you say I’m your partner, I should be your equal! And how dare you call me a fucking pet project!”

Russell’s breathing grew heavier, and for a moment, a flicker of guilt crossed his features. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual calculating demeanor he decided to do what he knows best manipulate.

“Fucking listen to me,” he said, his tone softening just enough to sound remorseful. “I’m sorry for calling you that. I wasn’t thinking. I was angry, baby. You pissed me off.”

He released their arms, brushing a tear from their cheek. “I married you because I needed you to legally stay here—to live, to work. The CIA wouldn’t trust you if we weren’t married. I love you, Bell. I wanted us to be married.”

Bell’s sobs quieted slightly, their mind reeling from his words.

“And like I said before, I didn’t want you to say the wrong thing and have it held against you. That’s why I told you to tell me first. I know the others are teammates, and I trust them, but what if someone was eavesdropping? Or what if they got kidnapped and someone made them tell your secrets? What if someone found you, Bell? Blackmailed you, or—God forbid—killed you? Don’t you see I’m doing this for you because I love you?”

His tone softened even more, the edge fading into an almost pleading cadence. “Do you see my perspective now? That I’m not brainwashing or manipulating you—I’m protecting you.”

Bell sobbed softly into his chest, their anger and confusion giving way to guilt and doubt.

Russell tilted their chin up and kissed them deeply, his grip firm but not painful. Bell hesitated before kissing back, their defenses crumbling completely under the weight of his words.

Satisfied, Russell picked them up, his lips never leaving theirs as he carried them to the bedroom. His mind buzzed with triumph, but his voice was tender as he whispered, “You’re mine, Bell. And I’ll never let you go.”